


Spark

by unfortunate17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Game of Thrones AU, Liam is Khal Drogo, M/M, No Major Character Death, Zayn is Khaleesi/Dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4855874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Liam,” Maura says quietly, “Liam Payne, Khal of the Dorthraki nomads. He’s offering you the force of all his men, all forty thousand of them, in exchange for nothing but your hand in marriage.”</p><p>Zayn’s mouth drops open, “For my hand? What the hell for? He’s absolutely mad.”</p><p>Maura shrugs, walks towards his bed to take a seat next to him, “There’s an old legend among his people - they call you the Son of the Moon.”</p><p>--<br/>Or, a Game of Thrones AU that lacks all the death and sorrow, where Zayn is Daenerys Targaryen and Liam is Khal Drogo. No knowledge of Game of Thrones is necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to Noel (ziamhell) without whom this fic would never have been finished. I LOVE YOU :D

The Kingdom was taken from Zayn's mother when he was very young. So young that he barely remembers what is now recorded as one of history's greatest slaughters. All he knows are the repercussions - his parents both died in the great siege, leaving him vulnerable and alone in the world, without a person to care for his well being.

His survival is still considered a miracle, scholars probing him to this day about memories he really doesn't have, too young and confused at the time to even understand why his mother or father weren't moving. But since the novelty of the mystery has worn off, his survival has officially become a hazard, the assassination attempts coming in thick and frequently. Everybody is afraid of Zayn, last of the House Malik, and true King of the Seven Kingdoms, though at the moment he's penniless, living under the kindness of his parents' oldest and most trustworthy allies, the Horan Family.

The idea that he is a threat of any sort is a bit laughable. Zayn's never been trained for war beyond basic combat for defense, hardly knows anything about laws or treaties, has no army, siege weapons, ships, or money. It's a bit ridiculous and farfetched really that one day he's supposed to ascend the throne of Bradfordshire and reclaim all that his parents had lost to the Winstons.

While the Horans have been kind, they are not a warring people, preferring instead to make their living as exporters of fruits and other foodstuff. Their kingdom thrives on trade. Merchants swarm the streets and sailors unload goods at the bountiful sea trading ports. Quite honestly, Zayn loves it here, loves the peaceful atmosphere and the friendly people. Every so often Queen Maura's son, Niall, comes to visit down from the Old Country where he's married to a prince whom he'd met back when he was fifteen on some royal visit.

"Zayn!"

He startles up, cursing as he throws the covers back in an attempt to be standing before the door to his chambers open. He fails and Maura comes in, royal robes flying behind her in great, green billows. She takes one look at his appearance and huffs, "Still in bed, Zayn? I sent the boys to wake you half an hour ago, young one." She throws an accusing look at the staff standing off to the side.

Zayn winces guiltily, "I don't doubt they tried."

Maura smiles at him warmly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes as Zayn knows it usually does. The expression fades almost as quickly as it came. She swallows, "Zayn - I." She looks away and clears her throat, "Niall's back!" Her voice breaks, "He's brought his husband and I swear he's as loud and irritatingly endearing as ever -"

"Oh," he'd known it was coming, what with being a little over twenty years of age, but his stomach still turns uncomfortably with nervousness.

"No, Zayn," Maura rushes in, "There's no rush really, young one, but there has been a very generous offer and - "

"No, " Zayn sighs, "I understand. Who is it?" He knows he needs to leave, should have left nearly two years ago on his eighteenth birthday but Maura has always been kind, never pushing, and Zayn had taken shameless advantage. His marriage was to be the key to getting back the throne of Bradfordshire, an operation that has been largely headed by Maura up until this point, though it's high time he takes responsibility for his own destiny. Zayn wants to go home probably more than he wants anything in the world, though he has little to offer in terms of an alliance. The fact that he even gets offers is a miracle, though some of them turn out to be attempts on his life rather than engagements.

That's another thing, the constant threat to his life is exhausting, and it's not a fair burden to the Horans, who have already done so much for Zayn out of nothing but the kindness of their hearts. Zayn knows he has to re-win the throne, if not for him, at least for Maura, who has so much faith in him, who has been no less than a mother to him.

"Liam," Maura says quietly, "Liam Payne, Khal of the Dorthraki nomads. He's offering you the force of all his men, all forty thousand of them, in exchange for nothing but your hand in marriage."

Zayn's mouth drops open, "For my hand? What the hell for? He's absolutely _mad_."

Maura shrugs, walks towards his bed to take a seat next to him, "There's an old legend among his people - they call you the Son of the Moon."

Zayn blinks, "Okay."

"In Dorthraki lore, Zayn, the moon in Dorthraki lore," Maura laughs lightly, her blonde hair a halo around her head from the sunlight, "is supposed to be an egg where all the dragons of the world emerged from. Of course, the dragons are gone now, long extinct, but there are many believers of the otherworldly powers of House Malik."

Zayn slouches next to her and rests his forearms on his knees. He blows out a rush of air, "That legend is false - I have no such powers and there's certainly no dragon in me ready to awaken or whatever, that's just lore and old culture. Dragons have been extinct for - "

"Of course I know that, Zayn, but Liam, he believes, you know, and your astrological calendars align. To the Dorthraki you two were a match made in heaven." Maura takes his hand reassuringly, "I knew his father, bless his old soul," she tells Zayn quietly, "He was always a very kind man, and I'm sure his son takes after him in stature and honor. But of course the choice is always, always yours, young one. It's just a very tempting chance."

Zayn nods and he knows in his gut he probably won't get another quite like this, at least not for a very long time, "What if they realize I'm nothing special, that I'm not the next Great Dragon Whisperer or something and it ends up breaking - "

"Dorthraki are loyal," Maura cuts him off, and Zayn can hear the excitement in her voice. If Maura agrees, then this most certainly is his best bet. Maura has wise judgment and her calls rarely, if ever, go wrong, "Breaking of marriage rites is unheard of in their culture except for extreme cases. Men and women often refuse to remarry even after the death of their partner."

Zayn closes his eyes and buries his face in Maura's shoulder. It's not until she reaches out to steady him that he realizes he's shaking. "I'll accept," he says quietly, "but I don't know the first thing about being married."

Maura laughs weakly, "Who does honestly? I've been married fifteen years and I still make things up as I go along. It's a bit like ruling a kingdom as you'll come to see."

Zayn makes a noise of amusement, but his stomach clenches in fright. He's lived his whole life in the comfortable walls of the Horan Palace. The thought of living as the Dorthraki do, as nomads who travel from place to place with nothing but the possessions on their backs and their horses is terrifyingly new. From what little he knows, the tribe prides themself in warfare, men inking their bodies to commemorate and celebrate important battle victories. He knows his own ink, completed simply for the purpose of decoration, will be seen as cheap. As a mockery. In fact Zayn will have a difficult time in being accepted, ink be damned.

Liam Payne is young, maybe even younger than Zayn, but tales of his ruthless conquests have reached far and wide, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies and friends alike. He's considered one of the finest killers in all the land.

"You'll be alright, Zayn. You'll see love. Niall was just as terrified as you were and look how happy he is now - marriage is a work in progress." Maura squeezes his shoulder before standing. "Liam would like to come see you tonight if that is alright with you." She must sense the panic in his face because she soothes a hand through his hair, "Don't worry, you won't have to make conversation or anything. He'll simply bring along an advisor to discuss a few things with me and maybe drop by to take a quick look at you. "

Zayn nods, the knot in his throat so tight he can't feel the air rush in and out of his body.

Maura sighs, "You don't have to do this, Zayn."

"I want to," Zayn assures her quickly, ducking his head, "I need a military alliance desperately."

"Love," Maura tips his chin up so Zayn's staring right into her kind eyes, as cereulean as her son's "this isn't just an alliance, it's a marriage."

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut because while that thought has definitely not escaped his notice, he knows in his bones that it's not exactly the most important part of this deal, "I know, Maura. And I'll be ready to do whatever it takes to make this deal work."

Maura sighs, but she doesn't press further, leaving him to his thoughts.

______

"Malik! Congrats, mate. Heard the good news."

Zayn smiles softly at the words. Niall and him had always been close, growing up as brothers until Niall got married and moved to the Old Country up north with his husband, Louis of Yorkshirefell. He splits his time now between the two lands, making sure to spend the harvest season here with his mother and Zayn.

Niall throws an arm around his shoulder, which is wildly uncomfortable across the dinner table chairs. "Who's the lucky man then?"

Zayn swallows down his bite. He's been forcing himself to eat as normal even though his appetite is almost nonexistent, mostly because Maura's been watching him like a hawk, "Liam Payne," he gives Niall a tight lipped smile.

Niall blinks in shock, "Of the Dorthraki? When in fresh hell did you meet him?"

"Tonight."

And then Niall's expression is pained. Zayn clenches his fists tightly, the pity like a slap to his face, "You don't have to do this, Zayn. There are other ways to power trust me - "

Zayn slams down his goblet, a deep, irritated breath escaping his chest. He struggles to keep calm, "I'm not a prince, Niall, not anymore," the words are harsh even to his own ears, "I don't exactly have a whole lot going for me at the moment."

Niall's eyebrows are drawn together in concern, the same way they've always looked whenever one of his crazy ideas left Zayn hurt or in trouble. It's more than Zayn can handle right now, "You can stay here," Niall bursts, "Louis can lend you an army or something and we'll figure it out! You think I wouldn't help you out?"

"Niall, please." Zayn presses the heels of his hands to his tired eyes, "Not now, okay. I have to meet him tonight and I'd rather he liked me."

Niall gives him a long look, and he must sense something in Zayn that makes him back down, "Fine then. But at least listen to me - Dorthraki are raiders, you'll need to learn how to ride a horse and fend for yourself, it's not in their nature to protect others, even the Khal's partner. It's going to be a pretty big change, Zayn." Niall sighs, running a hand through his hair, "You could literally have married _anyone else_ \- "

"Nobody else has forty thousand men war ready and even if they do they're not willing to hand them over to me on the promise of some legend that has no truth behind it." Zayn scoops up another mouthful of soup, "This is my only chance and I'm not stupid enough to blow it."

There's a long moment of silence, Zayn studying Niall's face closely. Niall grins then, suddenly, and this is why Zayn loves being around him, "Well at least me be happy for you then."

"Shut up," Zayn nudges him, warmth pooling in his stomach. Niall's friendship is so readily available and completely steadfast once obtained. An effortless gift really. "Your mum's looking and you know she's already worried about what you're eating when you're away - better finish your soup, Niall."

Niall rolls his eyes and pointedly shoves his spoon into his mouth, raising his eyebrows at Maura, who is seated at the front of the dining room. But Maura locks eyes with Zayn instead, motioning with her head slightly, a sign to come forward.

Zayn swallows, rising. Maybe eating wasn't the best idea because now he feels absolutely sick. "Well, wish me luck."

Niall slaps him on the back in response, leaving Zayn to weave in-between the chairs, tables, and castle staff seated for dinner.

Maura brings him in close the second he reaches her. "They're going to come up to the front of the palace. Liam's here simply to drop off his advisor, there will be practically no time for you two to converse - that'll have to be saved for the day of the wedding."

Zayn steels his nerves, "Are they here then?"

Maura smiles. "Right outside the city gates. They'll be here in a few minutes and you must be out there to greet them though you are not to say a word. Dorthraki do not kindly to tardiness." She gives Zayn a hard look at the last word and Zayn cracks a smile despite himself.

Maura's shoulders drop and she looks as exhausted as Zayn feels. Even more of a sign that he really needed to start building his own life, let Maura focus on her own after twenty years of faithful service, "I hope it all works out for you, young one. I wish for nothing more than to see you as happy as Niall someday."

Zayn swallows. "Don't worry about me," he assures her, "I'll be fine."

______

The meeting is incredibly, incredibly brief. Probably even more so that Maura had said it would be, but it is probably far more eventful than any of them had seen coming.

The horses gallop quickly towards them, Maura waiting on the front steps to receive them while Zayn hovers a few paces behind her, decked in a set of nicer, royal blue robes that Niall had brought back for him. Just watching the blurred figures coming towards them lets Zayn know that he will probably have to leave all his fine clothes behind because they'd be impractical for his new life. It's funny how the strangest details are enough to sadden him.

Three horses come to stand before them; two young men and an older one who is clearly the advisor. One of the young men is pale skinned with long, curling brown hair pulled back into an intricate braided bun. He's got an easy, lopsided smile, cheeks dimpling as his fingertips tap out a rhythm against his saddle in a beat that's clearly known only to him. He shoots Zayn a reassuring look the minute they arrive, large emerald eyes playfully jesting.

Zayn feels a rush of hope that he is Khal Liam Payne.

Unfortunately, he's proven wrong when Maura addresses the other man, much more serious in stature, "Our kingdom welcomes you, Khal Liam. We will be happy to set up overnight chambers if any of you wish to stay the night."

The older man clears his throat, "That will not be necessary, our Khal is simply here to see what has been promised to him. We," he tips his head at Maura, "will review the details of the ceremony and other agreements."

Maura smiles, "Of course." She gestures for Zayn to step forward, gripping his shoulders tightly when he's at her side, "This is the boy we've promised you. Zayn, last of the House Malik, true King of Bradfordshire and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

The advisor steps back, allowing Liam to bring his horse closer. Zayn's unnerved to say the least, Liam Payne's been here for nearly five minutes and hasn't spoken once. It doesn't help that he cuts an imposing figure, broad shoulders and muscled arms, a body clearly built from years and years of careful training and battles. His face is expressionless although classically handsome, jaw lean and cut, thick eyebrows, and surprisingly warm brown eyes. The traditional Dorthraki ink peeks out of his armor.

Zayn has the odd urge to wave under Liam's scrutiny, but Maura's grip on his shoulders is clear: stay _still_ and be _quiet._

Liam turns to his advisor and nods slightly, the advisor smiling back at him warmly before turning to Maura, "Our Khal is happy with your choice of the boy. If he is not needed any further, Liam will take his leave now, and we may begin the planning. "

Zayn drops his gaze to the floor, casually dismissed, eyes burning in humiliation. It's been so long since he's met a suitor now that he's managed to forget the embarrassment that comes with being paraded like an animal being sold. Zayn's not a fool, he knows exactly what he looks like, can even go as far as to say that he's quite happy with his looks - but. It's always a bit much. 

Maura soothes a hand down his back, reaching over to kiss his cheek before she speaks again, "Yes of course."

Zayn feels a rush of affection for her again, and he swallows back the sob that threatens to tear out of his throat. He hadn't anticipated this, the ache of how much he was going to miss Maura, Niall, and Louis. Even the familiar faces of his wait staff would be difficult to live without.

"Are you alright?"

Zayn looks up at the voice, ears ringing. Liam's eyes are tracing over him in near panic, searching and probing.

"Fine," he snaps, probably ruder that he should ever be. Maura flinches next to him a split second after Zayn realizes his mistake.

"I -," Liam recoils sharply at his tone, "alright." He shakes his head, backing away with hunched shoulders, "I did not mean to offend you."

Zayn feels regret, hot and sickening, swoop in his stomach, "I'm sorry," he offers, "it's been a long day. I'm not usually like this."

Liam nods again, but he doesn't make eye contact with Zayn again. The other young man on horseback moves closer to him, muttering something into his ear, but Liam just shrugs him off. They both turn their horses around then and are gone before Zayn can make another moves.  

He watches their figures fade for a long moment, right up until Maura smacks him on the back of the head. "We'll talk later, Zayn."

Zayn winces, and Liam's advisor laughs out loud. He grins at Zayn, "I rather like you, boy. I think you'll be good for him."

Zayn shrugs, trying to calm his booming heart, "Judging by how that just went, I'm glad at least someone believes in me."

______

The ceremony is a disaster.

Dorthraki don't exchange vows, something about leaving that up to the Heavens, but there is a beautiful procession in which the new Khals exchange swords as a symbol of respect and honor. There's spicy street food, dancing, bright colors, fighting, and horse races.

Zayn will never forget the humiliation he felt when Liam realizes that Zayn's sword is brand new and un-blooded. He aches at giving it away, a last parting gift from Maura, a symbol of Horan protection, but he understands why. If this were a real marriage, sealed on love, Liam and Zayn would take each other under their protection and the exchange of swords would be a stunningly perfect symbol.

Essentially, it's exactly the opposite of whatever Zayn was expecting and he feels like an utter fool in his finely crafted robes. Especially since Liam, who is dressed in sensible riding gear himself, won't even look at him, preferring instead to spend his time either conversing with his men or distracted by the spectacles in front of him. This leaves Zayn miserable at his side, twisting his fingers into his robes and ignoring the Dorthraki men and women that jeer at him.

He'll admit that the taunts were unexpected on his part, though he probably should have seen them coming as well. Apparently not everyone in the tribe believes in the old (bullshit) legend of why Zayn is basically worth forty thousand men. Many others expectedly mock the ink that's scattered throughout his body, snidely whispering about what Zayn Malik had ever done to earn the honor. He hears the words _whore_ and _imposter_ thrown around, perpetrators not bothering to keep the insults away from his ears. Even more so what stung was the way Liam had simply turned away from them, not bothering to address what had clearly made Zayn flinch. It's then that he remembers Niall's words - Niall who is so far away, already on a ship back to the Old Country to a husband that loves and cherishes him.

Zayn takes another peek to his right, catching Liam's sharp profile as he talks animatedly to the boy that had accompanied him on horseback when he'd first come to see Zayn. Zayn closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair. The drumbeats lull him slowly, drowsiness setting over his body. Maybe when he woke he'd be sixteen again, hiding out in Niall's bedroom as Niall rambled on and on about _that fit prince from Yorkshirefell._

"Khal Zayn?"

Zayn jumps, hand cracking against the underside of the table in front of him, "Yes?"

It's the boy that had just been speaking to Liam. He's leaned over, smiling at Zayn widely, "I'm Harry, Liam's personal assistant - but since you're married to him, I'll be doing the same for you. Do you need anything, sire?"

Zayn smiles tightly back at him. He can feel the exhaustion of the day pulling at the corners of his eyes, "No, I'm alright, thank you. Just very tired. It's nice to meet you."

Harry shakes his head at him, "You're as strange as ever." And before Zayn can ask exactly what he means by that, Harry is ducking under the table, reaching for an old looking burlap sack that he all but flings at Zayn, Liam ducking between them to avoid getting smacked in the face. _Too bad,_ Zayn muses cruelly, he'd have loved to have seen his reaction. Maybe it'd finally break the mask Liam had been wearing for the entire evening.

He watches curiously as the bag splays open in front of him, three richly decorated, smooth stones rolling out, the largest dropping into his lap. Zayn furrows his brow, hefting one up in his hand, "What are these?"

"Dragon's eggs," Liam answers, shocking Zayn upright in his chair. It's the first time Zayn has been directly addressed by Liam since their disastrous first meeting. "I mean they're petrified with age, but I had them decorated for you. Thought you might like them, make you feel closer to your family history."

Zayn grimaces at the reminder turning the bright blue stone over in his hands. They feel smooth and polished, almost like glass, although they're surprisingly heavy.

"You don't like them," Liam muses, drawing Zayn's attention up towards him again. Liam leans his head on the side of his chair, turning to face Zayn head on, "All I seem to do is offend you."

"No," Zayn insists, fiercely, "they're beautiful. Thank you very much." He's determined to get off on the right foot this time at least.

Liam smiles a little sardonically, "There's no need for you to spare my feelings. I know exactly why you're sitting next to me right now."

Zayn swallows down the urge to hurl something.

"For your information," Liam tells him quietly as Harry pretends to be deep in conversation with another attendant, "I will not be headed out for Bradfordshire until my duties are finished in Slaver's Bay."

Zayn grits his teeth, "Queen Maura told me as such and I've already said that it's of no consequence as long as you keep your part of the deal in the end."

Liam studies him then quietly. Zayn's struck once again by how beautiful he is, how kind he looks but doesn't seem to be, "As long as you understand what this is."

Zayn raises his eyebrows, "And what is this?" He wishes he could sound as sure as Liam does.

Liam's fists clench under the table, knuckles turning white around the grip he has on the armrests. "You are my husband and I am yours. Regardless of whether you believe in my people's way of thinking or understanding, you will respect it - and you will respect what they believe me and you have. I don't care whether the legends they spin for you have a shred of truth, but I never want to hear you disrespect their beliefs or speak ill of any member of my tribe."

Zayn opens his mouth but Liam cuts him off immediately, clearly not interested in whatever Zayn's protests were going to be.

"I don't care what they say about you or to you - you are a Khal of the Dorthraki and you will be expected to behave as such." Then, something in Liam's voice shifts, and if Zayn were looking at anyone else he'd immediately chalk it up to be vulnerability, "And you're married to _me,_ Zayn. I - you may not have others, at least not in body. I swear to you the same promise."

Zayn looks away then, panic ebbing at the topic. He's not sure how he's going to tell Liam, whether he's going to tell Liam at all because maybe it won't even _matter_ to Liam, maybe Liam won't even _care_. He brings his robes tighter around his body, somehow reminding him of Maura's protective embrace right before she sent him off. "I promise," Zayn says, voice a lot more confident than he really feels at the moment.

Liam nods, turning his body forwards to reach for a piece of meat before he's rising from his seat, "Good, I'll see you tonight then."

Zayn's going to be _sick._

________

The tent the Dorthraki set up for their Khals is large and luxurious, rich red draping sets it apart from the others. It's large enough to contain multiple compartments, Harry currently helping Zayn into nightclothes in one of them.

"Are you alright?"

Harry must have asked him the same question about fifteen times now, but Zayn does nothing more than nod tensely each time. He's afraid that if he actually speaks, his voice will break and he'll desperately beg Harry to take him back to the safety of Horan Kingdom.

"Khal, please. Is there a problem with my service?"

Zayn shakes his head at that, a rapid motion that nearly has his neck cracking with the force of his movement, "Of course not," he says, fighting to steady his voice, "thank you for helping me with all of this, I wouldn't have known where to go without your help."

Harry smiles at him gently, "You'll get used to it, don't worry. It takes time though, trust me I would know, but you will learn. It'll get easier."

Zayn tries to smile back, but the muscles in face don't seem to be cooperating, "Thank you."

Harry pats his shoulder, rubbing a clean cloth through Zayn's freshly washed hair, "There you go, all ready for bed." He winks, clearly attempting to lighten the mood, "Happy sleeping."

Zayn swallows heavily, twists his fingers in the tunic Harry's put him in and holds it close to his body, his grip almost vice-like. "Thank you," he says again, voice struggling to be heard over the sounds of the tribe cleaning up the last of the ceremonies.

Harry must chalk his nerves up to general exhaustion because he takes his leave quickly, hurrying off to do whatever duties he still has. Zayn wanders into the main sleeping area alone, noting the wide divan that takes up most of the space. It's draped in warm looking furs and Zayn steels his nerves before sliding under them, pulling them over his head to rid himself of the dying sunlight reddening the room.

His stomach is tossing even though he hasn't eaten much in the last few days. Hasn't been able to really keep anything down, and Zayn knows he's worrying himself sick. But so much is at stake that he can't seem to shut his brain off for hours at night, lying awake in his large bed and staring at the high ceiling until sleep claimed him forcefully. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his pupils burn from overuse. He breathes deeply in and our of his furs, his breath dampening the furs and forces himself not to cry.

He must have fallen into a fitful sleep because he when reemerges, the tent is dark, lit solely by an oil lamp Harry had placed on the table at the front of the tent. Zayn turns over, stretching out his weary limbs, but his body immediately stills when he sees Liam wiping down his wet hair in front of a mirror that Zayn doesn't remember from when he walked in.

Liam catches his eyes from in the mirror, "It's nearly midnight."

Zayn blinks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "It's been a hard couple of days," he says honestly. His blood runs icy when Liam stalks to the divan to pull up the furs Zayn's got wrapped around his body.

"I'll bet," is the reply, but it sounds like Liam's voice is coming from far, far away, barely understandable over the rapid jack rabbiting of his heartbeat. He feels the divan shift as Liam settles in more firmly, lying on his back without another word. His body is a line of heat against Zayn's side. "Zayn?"

Zayn lets out a shuddering breath and squeezes his eyes shut against another onslaught of tears. The emotion is overwhelming this time and he can't stop some of them from dripping out of the corners of his eyes. _"_ Fuck _,"_ he breathes, turning into the hand he's got laying on his pillow to hide his tear soaked face. The words seem to simply fall out of him, and he sounds terrified even to his own ears. "Please _,_ " he whispers, voice barely a sound, "I know this is our wedding night butLiam, fucking _please_ I'm begging you. I've never so much as touched another person in my life and I know it's expected - but. I _can't_. Don't make me, please." He brings his legs up, curling his arms around them pathetically; a protective barrier that he knows Liam can break easily if he so wished.

The silence that blankets the room is deafening.

Then -

"Zayn," Liam's voice is barely above a whisper, shifting onto his side so he can face Zayn, "please look at me."

Zayn shudders, burying himself deeper into his pillow. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he'd suffocate. "I'm crying, Liam. I don't exactly want you to see."

"Zayn."

Zayn jumps at the feeling of a warm hand on the nape of his neck, fingers running soothingly through his hair, a thumb stroking across the delicate upper knob of his spine.

"Zayn _please_."

Zayn takes a deep breath before raising his eyes just enough to be able to see Liam's face in the low lighting. His eyes are hugely brown, staring back at him in equal parts fright and shock. "I-," Liam's voice cracks, "I don't know how you ever got the impression I was going to hurt you but," he swallows visibly, free hand coming up to wipe clumsily at Zayn's tearstained face, "I will never do anything without you wanting it, Zayn, I swear to you."

Zayn nods rapidly, blinking back the wetness in his eyes, squirming out of Liam's hold, "Sorry," he laughs loudly, "was being a bit stupid there is all -"

But Liam's not finished, continuing on as if Zayn had never spoken, "I saw the way the Queen held you, like she was afraid you were going off to war or something," Liam reaches over, gently scooping up Zayn's hand in his own larger one. The grip is loose. Zayn could easily break it if he wanted. Liam's voice is very quiet, a tinge of shame coloring every syllable, "I don't know what she thinks I'll do to you, but - I won't okay. I'm going to take care of you, Zayn. I promise."

Zayn shuffles awkwardly, pulling the furs up with his free hand until they're pressed right under his nose. "Okay," his voice is muffled. Despite the reassurances, he's having trouble relaxing his muscles enough to be lulled back into sleep.

Liam's sighs, "Do you want me to sleep elsewhere?"

Zayn lowers his eyes uncomfortably to their intertwined hands, "No."

There's silence for a minute before Liam huffs, "Remember that you don't have to spare my feelings," Liam swings his legs out and gets up off of the divan, "I'll sleep in the lounge area back there."

Zayn scrambles into a sitting position, "Liam no - 'm sorry, yeah - "

"No," Liam shakes his head, "I want you to be comfortable. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, we've got a long day ahead of us."

Zayn forces a smile as Liam slips out of the connecting flap, before he falls backwards eagle spread onto the divan. He can finally breathe easy.

______

"Zayn?"

Zayn turns over, pulling the soft furs up and over his head. From what he can tell, it's barely light outside, the sun just pulling up over the horizon - far, far too early for Zayn to even be awake, let alone join the functioning world outside. He groans, "I'm up."

There's low laughter from the other side of the tent, "So you say. Harry tried for nearly fifteen minutes before giving up and coming to find me."

Zayn rolls onto his back, stretching out his sore shoulders. He never sleeps well in unfamiliar places and last night had been no exception. He'd woken nearly four times, convinced he'd heard Niall messing around or Maura bursting in to wake him. Combined with the exhaustion of the previous days, Zayn's ready for a lethargic day in bed. But now here is his brand new, shiny husband out to ensure he's a productive member of society.

"We're going to leave you behind," Liam says as he leans over the divan to peer at Zayn. "Got Harry to bring you a horse, the Queen said you could ride."

Zayn groans again because he’s shit at horseback riding; mostly ends up on his back on the ground or aching from his shoulders down to his feet. "When're we leaving?"

"In a half hour," Liam's eyes rove his face carefully before he takes a seat gingerly at the end of the divan, "I - uh, I'll let you get prepared but. About last night - "

Zayn swallows, fiddling with the furs to keep his hands busy, "I overreacted last night and I'm sorry for it." Zayn sighed, "I've been shit to you in general and I - "

"Listen," Liam breaks in, "we don't really need to be best friends or whatever, but civility is always the best route to take." He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through the furs, refusing to meet Zayn's eyes, "I don't want you to be afraid of me. I'll never set out to hurt you intentionally I promise."

"I know," Zayn tells him, hesitantly reaching out a hand to grip Liam's arm, feeling him tense under the grip, "I'm sorry for the way that I reacted, I was just," he trails off, shaking his head.

"Scared," Liam fills in, nodding to himself a little self-deprecatingly. His voice turns hushed, quiet, and Zayn knows these words are meant just for him, "I know that some people say - My reputation precedes me - I," Liam struggles, pushing his face into his hands. He pauses for a long moment, breathing deeply, "There are many people who assume I am a certain way because of the people I was born into and the ways of my tribe. You may not have met them, but you most certainly will. I would just like - like for you to come to me if you wish to know something because I promise will tell you the truth. Please don't hate me for something someone says witho- "

"Liam," Zayn turns his body, curling closer to Liam, "I know what that's like, don't worry. I also know it's partly why I'm here with you right now so I won't judge you too harshly." He smiles wryly and Liam returns the action, albeit a little hesitantly.

Liam swallows, rising, "Thank you."

Zayn nods at him before sighing and sitting up. He scowls at the thought of moving, but there's a hand on his shoulder, easing him back gently into the divan.

"Go back to sleep," Liam tells him quietly, pulling the furs back up to Zayn's shoulders as he lays down, "I'll have them wake you after all your things have been rounded up and packed. We're headed back towards Slaver's Bay so it'll be a long ride."

Zayn yawns, settling back in, "So I take it sleeping on your horse is impossible. What a shame."

"Get some rest," Liam shoots back, but Zayn can hear the smile in his voice.

______

The brief slumber was far too short for the heat of the day or the dismal, constant hunger gnawing at Zayn's stomach. He'd barely eaten at breakfast again, even though the food was good. Harry had advised him to go a little light to ensure there would be no accident on Zayn's very first day. But, now he's starving and supper is still a while away. Apparently, the Dorthraki do not believe in taking their last meal until after sundown. He also aches - _everywhere_ \- from the wrong, uncomfortable sleeping, the falling off of his horse, and the actual riding itself. He's not sure how he's supposed to keep doing this for the rest of his days, or at least up until they capture Bradfordshire, where Liam be damned, Zayn will go back to rising at noon and staying as far away from a horse as he can.

"You look cheerful."

Zayn grapples with his reins, jumping in surprise. Liam's riding in front of him, the strong lines of his back more than a little distracting, "What?"

Harry trots up beside him easily, grinning from ear to ear. The bastard looks as happy as ever and if Zayn wasn’t so busy keeping his balance, he'd knock him one in his ridiculously over the top smile. "Didn't get any sleep from all that action?" He waggles his eyebrows, and Zayn shifts uncomfortably. Harry's grin just gets wider, "Still sore, huh? God, Liam's always forgetting that the people he fucks gotta ride a horse in the morning."

Zayn flushes, turning away sharply as the embarrassment crawls up his neck. The meaning of what Harry has said is not lost on him, something like self-loathing curling in his stomach, "Something like that."

Harry falls silent at his tone, rearing his horse closer to Zayn's, close enough to be able to lean over so their words remain private. His ridiculous curls brush Zayn's temple, "You need me to kick his ass?"

"No," Zayn tells him. He swallows, admitting, "It didn't go well though."

Harry runs a hand down his back soothingly, "Not something he did was it?"

Zayn shakes his head, the disappointment thick in his throat. Harry smacks his back in response, "Then relax a little, these things take time. Next time will be better, trust me, and besides wedding nights are usually high pressure, yeah. Not that I'd know, but as I've heard anyway."

Zayn laughs despite himself, "Thanks for the advice."

Harry taps his temple, "Always trust the man with the experience."

"Harry!" The shout is loud, coming from some distance behind them. Zayn can hear some of the other clansmen behind them laughing at the sound, almost like this was a regular occurrence. The tribe seems to love Harry in general and Zayn can definitely see why.

Harry cringes sheepishly, "And that's Advisor Cowell coming for my head because I left my station for exactly two minutes." He grabs Zayn's hand with his own, raising them both in the air, "I have a new station," he yells in reply, "No longer will my place in the clan be that of the assistant. Khal Zayn and I will ride off, leaving the lot of you to fend for yourselves. Then you'll understand our worth."

Zayn's laughing now, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep steady with one hand in the air.

Liam's horse halts in front of them, forcing Zayn to slow his own trot. He turns, large brown eyes assessing Zayn and Harry carefully. Zayn flushes under his probing gaze, immediately pulling his hand out of Harry's grasp. Liam sighs, but a wry smile appears on his face, "And how, Harry, will you take this one with you when he can barely ride?"

Harry nudges Zayn, knocking him sideways, "Dragons, Khal. We'll have him sit on those eggs to keep them warm then -"

Zayn scrambles upright, kicking his feet out in retaliation but Harry has a very skilled hand on the reigns, easily managing to avoid the pathetic attempt at an attack while Zayn scowls petulantly. The sounds of the people's laughter makes his cheeks hot, "I'm not sitting on a fucking egg."

"Fire, then," Harry reasons, "Put 'em in fire then - c'mon we gotta hatch these eggs in any way we can."

"Harry," Liam calls back sternly, turning to face forward again with a roll of his eyes, "if you make Zayn fall, you'll _walk_ to Slaver's Bay."

Harry makes an indignant sound, reaching over to place a steadying hand on Zayn's elbow. He throws Liam a dirty look. "You know I was his so called best friend before you arrived. You've mucked everything up, you have."

And Zayn laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes.

______

By supper Zayn's mood has improved vastly, the setting of the blazing sun making riding much more enjoyable. Harry and him had spent the last two hours of the ride driving Advisor Cowell absolutely mad, switching maps and supplies for their own amusement, all while Liam eyed them tight-lipped from the front of the clan.

Apparently the Dorthraki had been at war in Slaver's Bay for the past year, freeing slave armies, many of which had joined the tribe, and collecting supplies and weaponry. These would be used against the Winstons at Bradfordshire to win back Zayn's throne.

Zayn hisses in pain as he settles in front of the fire. His whole body aches everywhere, horseback riding not easy on the legs or back. The tribe is extremely efficient in setting up the campfires and tents, some men and women quickly adding meats into a large, boiling pot. The smell from it makes Zayn's stomach twists so hard it nearly hurts. He's only realizing his hunger now that he has a moment to catch his breath.

The prairies are quiet, the stars bright overhead in their splendor, far more beautiful than those he remembers back when he used to look up at the sky from the Horan Palace. There's an ache in his heart at the thought of being so far from all that he knows, but Zayn knows his duty. Knows that there are hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children trapped under the cruel and merciless rule of the Winstons back in the homeland he can hardly remember.

"Are you alright?"

Zayn tips his head back, watching as Liam dismounts his horse. The firelight plays with his eyes, turning them a deep amber. "I'm fine," Zayn gives him a tight-lipped smile that Liam returns hesitantly, "Just very, very sore."

Liam nods, taking a seat beside him. He's careful to leave space between the two of them, ensuring that their knees don't knock, approaching Zayn as if he were a wild animal ready to flee at any moment. He wonders what he looks like in Liam's eyes, wonders if he's bigger than how small he feels out here. Liam clears his throat, "Horse riding is tough on the body, especially when new."

Zayn nods, at a loss for words. Conversation is exceedingly difficult with Liam, often leaving him tongue-tied. The silences between them stretch far too long and feel far too uncomfortable, but Liam leaves him be. Lets him decide how much, or if at all, he wants to speak. It's nice in that way.

"Here," Liam pushes something at him, suddenly, and when Zayn looks down he sees a thick fur, too small to be a blanket or cover of any sort. It's more like something he would put under his head when he slept, but he has actual pillows on the divan for that.

"Thank you," Zayn smiles. The fur is exceedingly soft and the whole piece is cushioned, well crafted. He looks up at Liam only to find that his gaze is already on him. Zayn flushes. "I do not know what this is for," he admits.

Liam laughs, biting his lip. "You -" he gesture back to where his horse is tied, "place it on the saddle. It'll ease the journey."

"Oh," Zayn blinks. It's exceedingly thoughtful, warmth pooling in his chest, "thank you."

Liam waves him off, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. His eyes are downcast and for the first time Zayn is shocked into realizing that he makes Khal Liam Payne of the Dorthraki Nomads _nervous_.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the hustle and bustle of the tribe around them. It's nice, Zayn will admit, the madness to set up an entire tribe for the night in the middle of an absolutely serene, motionless backdrop. There are grasslands as far as he can see, the horizon eventually swallowing up all sight of land. It makes him feel trivial.

"You - Harry," Liam swallows, pausing to gather his words. Firelight flickers off of his face, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the round slope of his nose, "Harry likes you very much. I'm glad he has some company."

Zayn hums, shaking his head fondly at the thought of Harry's easy demeanor, "He has a way of making me feel welcome."

"You are, you know," Liam says at that, breaking in. Zayn raises his eyebrows at the outburst, watching as Liam pulls at the grass around him, ripping out handfuls as he speaks, "Welcome, I mean. You are very welcome. The tribe is a family and they are understandably weary, but we're. I'm glad to have you, Zayn."

Zayn shivers though the night is warm.

"I'm sorry if - if I've offended you in any way," Liam says quietly, "I don't ever mean to."

"Liam," Zayn says, "that's not what I meant at all and you know it."

But Liam's serious expression doesn't drop, Zayn's words doing nothing but adding a pinch of sadness to the corners of his eyes, "I know," he says softly, "Just thought I'd make it clear. Just in case." He nods, more to himself than to Zayn, "I need to set up some men around the camp for the nightly watch. I'll see you in a bit."

Zayn watches him leave silently, fingers buried in the thick fur he had been given. Liam's presence lingers long after he has gone, Zayn notes, a blanket of safety and hesitant warmth in the otherwise lonely night.

______

Time moves faster out in the great outdoors than it did back in the palace, months slipping away seamlessly between rolling grasslands and rocky mountains. Every day a constant shift of scenery, a new place to call home for the night. Riding becomes easier, more routine than anything, the beating heart of the horse under him a familiar feeling now associated with comfort. The tribe is kind, though politely closed off in a way that leaves Zayn with the acute, bitter taste of being an outsider. It seems to be a theme in his life.

However, they do appreciate that Zayn is willing to place his eggs up against his oil lamp at night to keep them warm, their rich legends and culture alive and thriving in a way that Zayn admires. Children come to him sometimes with excited questions of when they will hatch, but before he can speak, Liam always sends them away with sweets instead, shaking his head fondly at every bopping smile.

That relationship is still difficult to define, the miles between them impossible to cross. Liam is kind, warm, sincere, and respectful, and while he has his genuine moments, his detachment makes Zayn feel cold sometimes. He knows there are whispers among the clan, the way servants always find clean sheets and furs in the Khals' tent, how the marriage is yet to be fully blessed. Some of the elder women in the village occasionally give Zayn amulets and bracelets for _luck_ and _love_ and _happy unions,_ all of which he accepts graciously, Liam rigid and tense by his side.

Harry makes no comment through it all, turning to Zayn with jokes and distractions in that slow drawl instead, until Zayn finally cracks.

He's wrapping himself in nightclothes while Harry drains his bath when he knows that something has to change despite the fear that lodges in his lungs at the thought.

"Khal," Harry calls from the edge of the tent, "I'll be leaving you now, is there anything else you need?"

Zayn swallows, his throat dry like sandpaper. He steels his nerves, "Yes. I - " He shakes his head, "Please come inside for a moment. I have some matters to discuss with you."

Harry enters, wiping his hands on his tunic, presumably to dry them. He raises his eyebrows in question while Zayn fumbles with the tie on his night robes. "Zayn?"

"I - " Zayn takes a deep breath, his chest suddenly too tight. So, he tries a different angle, "You - Have you heard what the servants say? About my bed."

The silence stretches between them, stone cold. When Zayn musters the courage to meet Harry's eyes, he finds the other man tracing the floor with his eyes. "Harry," Zayn whispers, "Answer me."

"Yeah," Harry says then, shrugging in a way that is far too casual to be natural, "I mean, yes, of course I overhear it, but that kind of gossip is none of my business."

"You mentioned - when I first arrived, that you knew how I felt. That," Zayn clears his throat, but the words are coming out too quickly, jamming into his mouth behind his clenched teeth, "You're not a native to the tribe, so I -. What."

Harry comes up short, brows furrowing, "I don't understand."

"Where are you from?"

"The pleasure house in Karth," he admits at last, looking a tad bit ashamed, but Zayn only nods for him to continue, "Some of Liam's men used to - visit. Liam, Cowell, and I - we spoke of many things, it's how I ended up under Advisor Cowell's guidance actually. But me and Liam - we never, not even once, Zayn - "

"Can you help me?" Zayn breaks in at last. He's not here to cause anguish and frankly the thought of Liam or Harry going behind his back is ludicrous at best. The words are very difficult to get out however, pride stinging. "I want to - to make Liam -" He cuts off, a frustrated rage rising in his throat, "The union isn't official, it could be broken at any moment according to Dorthraki customs and I can't have that risk over my head."

Harry looks largely relieved at the interruption, "Yeah," he laughs then, "I can help you, but it's not exactly very complicated, Zayn."

Zayn draws him back towards the divan with a hand on his forearm. Harry follows, shoulders loose and sunburned from the heat. "Show me," Zayn demands. "Tell me what he likes."

Harry cackles at the words, throwing his head back and shaking with laughter. Zayn huffs, falling back onto the divan in his own amusement. The absurdness of the situation isn't lost on either of them apparently. "God," Harry shakes his head, "what are you - like."

"Fuck off," Zayn kicks at his knees, "I don't mean like - 'm not gonna take my clothes off, you prick. Just like."

"Yeah," Harry nods seriously, though his grin stretches from ear to ear as he climbs up onto Zayn, straddling his thighs. "You know the basics I assume, like, when you get aroused - "

" _Harry_ ," Zayn snaps. He can feel his face flaming, has half a mind to put a stop to this and fuck the union entirely. He covers his face, words muffled behind his hands, "I'm asking this of you because you're my friend."

"And I'm the only person you can ask," Harry finishes for him. The shit eating smirk on his face, however, doesn't disappear and Zayn vows to punch it off of him one day.

"Okay," Zayn scoots back to remove himself from under his hold, "If this is - "

Harry grips his shoulder, "Hey," he complains, "Hold still and let me talk, yeah." Zayn scoffs, but when it becomes clear he's not going anywhere, Harry relaxes his hold, though he leaves his hands where they are. "Love," he begins, and Zayn's ready to cut him off with a groan, until he continues, "is born in the eyes, at least according to Dorthraki lore. And in my humble opinion it's true - especially the first few times. That means you're going to actually have to look at him."

" _Look_ at him," Zayn says in disbelief, "somehow I thought this would be more complicated."

Harry snorts, smacks his shoulder in retaliation, "Flip us over."

Zayn furrows his brows, "Why? Just tell me what to expect when - like how much it hurts - "

"Flip us over."

Zayn rolls his eyes, frustration and embarrassment giving way to anger. He shoves Harry roughly down onto the divan, probably much harder than is necessary, "Happy?"

Harry grins up at him widely and it's so clear that he's enjoying this. "You know how to open someone up, yeah. Or do I have to draw you - "

"Wait," Zayn's reeling, "That's. Liam's not going to like that." Harry raises a smooth eyebrow, making him feel immediately foolish, though his concern is very valid. "Is that what he did at the pleasure house then?"

"Course not," Harry rolls his eyes, "But you're his husband, aren't you. And we're not in a pleasure house."

Zayn shakes his head, sitting back on Harry's knees, "I don't think Liam's going to like it with me on top. Maybe if - if I was still on the bottom in the real sense, but. Not like this. Just tell me how much it hurts, if it bleeds, and I'll - "

Harry's eyes go stern at his words, "Trust me, for the first time, what I'm telling you is probably be best. Whatever you get up to after that is none of my business, though I do think you two should work up to it." He must catch Zayn's mortified face because he rolls his eyes, "You wanted advice, so stop making that face, listen, and let me provide it."

He sighs, squeezing Harry's forearms, "Thank you then. I really do appreciate the help."

"Don't rush into it Zayn, take your time. Make sure you're comfortable with everything first," Harry pats his side comfortingly.

"Don't rush into what?"

Zayn cracks his head to the side so fast he thinks it'd be comical if it didn't hurt as much as it did. Liam's standing at the edge of his own sleeping area, probably having just come into the tent. His throat goes dry and it isn't until Harry gently pushes him off of him that he remembers how to work his limbs, falling back onto the divan heavily. He feels a lot more guilty than he really has cause to be.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, throwing Harry a wild look, "We - "

Harry bows in front of him, thankfully cutting off any ridiculous thing Zayn was about to say, "I was just leaving, Khal Liam. Advisor Cowell asked me to meet him and I'm already late."

Liam's eyes are wide and Zayn can see it when he swallows tightly, hands clenched at his side, arms ramrod straight, "Well. Why are you late then?"

Harry shakes his head, stepping to the side quickly to pass him, but Liam catches his shoulder, turning Harry to face him with a firm grip. Liam's eyes jump between Harry and Zayn quickly and Zayn knows what it probably looked like - and what it actually was. But he can't bring himself to open his mouth through the blinding mortification.

Harry, however, looks sort of ashen, like he can't believe this is happening to him. Zayn knows that technically this is probably his fault, but the fact that Harry doesn't reveal what Zayn had asked him even on Liam's orders sends a rush of relief and appreciation through him.

"I don't want you here with him alone again," Liam says at last, voice carefully controlled, "Unless there's - there's something you both have to say about this."

Zayn looks down and from what he can hear, Harry stays silent. Then Liam sighs loudly before dismissing Harry, whose footsteps dart quickly after that. The flap of the tent is loud in the otherwise quiet night; it must be late if even the hustle of the tribe had died down.

"Zayn?" Liam's voice contains an emotion Zayn can't place.

He doesn't know how he manages to meet Liam's eyes in that moment, but it drains him. Liam's face is completely blank save for the way his bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, making Zayn hate himself far more than he already does. "We - I asked him for help. With something."

The look on Liam's face clearly says that he knows what his elusive something is. Zayn cringes, preparing, but the harsh words never come. Instead, Liam seems to deflate entirely before his eyes, shoulders hunching.

"Nothing happened, I swear Liam. Nothing was ever going to happen. It was not my intention."

Liam nods again, too silent for Zayn's liking, but he's not sure what more he can say. How he can possibly make Liam understand what he's feeling, understand the pressure that constantly builds on his slender shoulders.

"Say something," he pleads at least, taking a hesitant step forward.

"I don't know what to say," Liam admits at last, "I've already told you that I don't want anything from you. Why do you feel the need to -"

"Our union is not consummated," Zayn snaps, irritation bubbling hot and thick under his skin. "According to every law, our deal basically hasn't been fulfilled and I can't - you don't."

"You believe that of me." It's a statement.

"It's not what I _believe_ ," Zayn balls his fists in frustration, "It's what's _law -_ you don't understand. Or have you forgotten why we were married in the first place?"

Liam flinches. "No," he says, "No I haven't forgotten." He lets out a long rush of air, "If that's what you want from me, Zayn, then let's just get it over with, yeah."

"Fine by me," Zayn responds hotly, and it isn't until Liam steps close enough to touch in the small the room that his mind catches up with his words. He looks up in alarm, "Liam - "

"You're afraid," Liam accuses, "You're afraid of me."

" 'm not," Zayn whispers, "I'm not afraid of _you_ I swear it."

Liam shakes his head, his large warm hands coming to rest on Zayn's shoulders. "Please, you have to understand," Zayn swallows thickly. He feels cut down, splayed open, eyes finally stinging with an emotion he's worked months to carefully conceal.

"Zayn _,_ " Liam draws him near, half-shocked, "You're so unhappy here and for that I'm so sorry. I should never have -" He cuts himself off, but there's nothing hidden about his unsaid words.

Zayn presses his face into Liam's shoulder, hiding his eyes as he trembles. Liam's hands ground him tightly, "I'm not unhappy," he argues even as he feels himself soaking Liam's shirt.

Liam sighs again, leading them back towards Zayn's divan. He gentles Zayn down, drawing the furs up and around his shoulders like he had the first morning. Zayn's still curled into Liam's shoulders, unwilling to let go of the grip he has around them. He feels Liam's breathing stutter in his chest as he sooths a hand up and down Zayn's back to calm him. It feels like they're right back at the very beginning again and for that he's not too proud.

"You're so tired," Liam murmurs into his ear, voice soft. "Everything will alright you'll see, you just need to sleep."

The tears come thicker at that, because tomorrow will be another long day of riding - they're about to enter Slaver's Bay and visit a local market for supplies before their next battle. There is no rest or calm sleep in the near future.

"Zayn, please," Liam whispers, "Tell me what I can do."

Zayn laughs wetly, "Sorry," he pulls back, falling onto the divan and avoiding Liam's worried eyes, " 'm just always making a right fool of myself." He squeezes his eyes shut, skin tingling wherever Liam's thumb is wiping at the wetness on his face.

The divan is cold though and he can't help but lean into Liam's comforting heat. Liam's hands are very gentle and so is his voice, "Do you want me to bring you something warm to drink?"

Zayn shakes his head, the foolishness settling in as the tears slowly dry. He feels wrecked though, nose stuffed, face red and wet from the tears. "No, I'm alright. It's just been a very long day."

Liam smiles at him, "Like all the others?" He rubs a hand through Zayn's hair, fingers pressing wonderful pressure into his pounding head.

Zayn hums, closing his eyes under Liam's ministrations, "Exactly." He feels Liam huff a laugh against his neck as he speaks. "Sorry if I'm keeping you up."

"No," the response is immediate, "I don't mind. As long as you feel better, yeah?"

And Zayn makes a split decision there, before he can think about it too much. He twists out of Liam's grasp quickly to push across the divan. He flips up the furs and pats the empty spot beside him, hoping he doesn't have to say anything beyond that.

Liam looks down at his hand and back up at him with wide eyes. He gesture back towards where he usually sleeps, separated from Zayn's divan by a thick curtain, "I can always go - "

"C'mere," Zayn mumbles, exhausted, " 'm tired of being alone."

Liam settles in hesitantly on his side, careful to keep his distance and not jostle too much, but damn it all, Zayn just wants to be held. He pries Liam's arm up away from the divan, scooting forward before letting it drop back around him.

Liam rests his cheek on the top of his head and it's such a warm pressure, the arm around him curving until it's snug, large hand splayed across his back. Zayn's not sure why he waited so long to do this honestly, the fear of contact thrumming away into the age-old comfort of a warm body to hold.

"You're not alone," Liam tells him quietly, startling Zayn from where he'd almost fallen asleep. Liam must feel him jump because he whispers an apology softly into Zayn's ear.

Zayn smiles despite himself, "I have you, yeah."

"You do," and Liam's words are so serious, "Of course you do, Zayn. I told you, 'm gonna take care of you."

"Thank you."

He hears Liam laugh lightly before Zayn feels the press of a quick kiss to his forehead, "You're welcome, Zayn. Now sleep."

And Zayn does - better than he has in months.

______

Now, Liam won't stop hovering and it's slowly driving Zayn insane. Add that into the fact that Harry's been suspiciously busy with his advising duties all day and he's willing to drop dead on his feet from boredom, exhaustion, and the afternoon heat beating down on his back. He's uncomfortable, sweaty, wants to throw away the fur cushioning he's seated on even though it really does help the bumpy motion of the horse. Liam's riding beside him rather than in front as he usually does, ever so often offering him water, which Zayn accepts graciously.

Something's changed between them, though Zayn isn't sure what exactly that something is. But he thinks he likes it. Liam's just as quiet as before, a somber pillar of strength, except when he smiles and his eyes squint up into little half-moons that Zayn has a strange urge to smooth down with his fingers. He's attractive, always has been, and he makes Zayn feel safe. He resolves to leave it at that for the moment.

"Hungry?"

Zayn turns to see Liam offering him a piece of salted meat, dried neatly into little strips by the cooks of the clan. He shakes his head, grinning, "I think you're going to have a rebellion on your hands if you feed just me."

Liam's cheeks push up, but Zayn can see the worry lined in his eyes. The day is hot, exceedingly so, and the sparse grasslands offer them no shade from the unrelenting rays of sun. The children and elders have been put away into the backs of wagons on Liam's orders, but the horses are tired now, Zayn's own whining unhappily every time Zayn so much as tightens his grips on the reigns.

"The market is just around the bend," Liam assures him, "we'll be stopping there for a few days to rest and resupply. We won't get a chance to do that in Slaver's Bay."

Zayn shades his eyes from the onslaught of sun so he can see Liam's face, "Will we go into battle often in Slaver's Bay?"

"No," Liam laughs, "Well not you at least. There are always scrimmages but usually nothing large-scale. That's not to say we haven't had to take cities by force before, but for the most part all we need to do is set the initial spark."

"Spark?"

"These are slave cities," Liam admits, petting his horse with a gentle hand when it snorts in displeasure, "Most of the population is in chains, many already angry with their unfortunate positions from which are unable to escape from. All we need to do is show our support for their freedom, arm them, and they'll do the rest."

"Tricking people into joining your ranks, Payne," Zayn sends him a crooked grin, "I see your hunger for power from miles away."

Liam flushes, shaking his head, "The freed always get a choice, though many of them do choose to join us. How else do you think I've managed to gather forty thousand men in a few months?"

"I'm just messing with you," Zayn says, "I don't mean any offense."

"I know," Liam replies and he truly doesn't look upset at the jibe. "But I just wanted to make sure you knew. Because people love to talk is all and what they say is not always kind."

Zayn nods, looks straight ahead when he speaks next, not daring to look Liam in the eyes, "Is the army for me?"

"Yes," Liam admits and Zayn can hear the slight huff of laughter he emits right after, "Couldn't offer you a hand in marriage without a bargaining chip now could I?"

Zayn shakes his head, smiling, "You are such a fool, not sure why everyone always listens to you."

"You accepted," Liam tells him, very quietly. "The army of will be of much use to you. Especially once we take Karth, the largest slave city. Our ranks are expected to double, triple even. You will be undefeatable."

"Liam," Zayn almost pleads, but he's not quite sure where he's going with the statement. Feels the bottom drop out of his stomach when Liam talks in that way.

"I'll keep my side of the bargain, I promise. No matter what all those laws have to say," Liam says. He's very earnest is the thing; the Khal of the great Dorthraki tribe is inherently soft.

"I trust you."

______

The marketplace is almost as large as the Horan Kingdom itself, unrivaled in its magnificence. Zayn's never seen anything quite like it before, but as it is, it's considered the largest trading center in the Seven Kingdoms so it is to be expected in some ways. Business blooms here, trade flourishing - one can find almost anything in this famous market.

They ride through the bustle with a single announcement from the conch blowers, people parting rapidly to let the tribe through, many bowing in respect, some children calling out greetings.

"The Dorthraki are well known in these parts," Liam explains to him, and Zayn doesn't doubt that one bit, especially from the fanfare that's being caused by their arrival, "They even clear out a place for us to stay."

He smiles, "Popular costumers, you must be."

Liam laughs, trotting his horse up to a long line of wooden spikes in front of a clearing before he dismounts and secures the horse in place. Zayn goes to follow him, mimicking his actions as most of the tribe does the same. Many begin to unload the wagons, removing tents and other necessities to set up their temporary home.

"How long will we be staying?" he asks as Liam takes him gently by the arm, leading him away from his horse, "And where are we going?"

"Three nights," Liam tells him in response, nodding to Advisor Cowell and Harry, the latter immediately flushing under his gaze. "We ride out early on the fourth morning so no laying around in bed until midday."

" _Midday - "_

Liam grins at him, eyes squinting beautifully, his hand warm on Zayn's wrist, "Hush. I want you to taste the wine the men sell out here."

Zayn furrows his brow as he trips over his own boots, Liam steadying him gently and slowing his pace so that Zayn doesn't need to struggle to keep up, "Why the rush?"

"I had wine-makers from the Southern Vineyards send up a special crate for you, but we were supposed to have arrived a few days back and I want to make sure they still have it." The way Liam speaks always makes Zayn come up short, because while easy conversation with Liam is still a new development, Liam's thoughtful actions have been present since the very beginning. Zayn knows of the Southern Vineyards, even Queen Maura was fond of their creations. They're quite famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms and their wine often has to be ordered months in advance for any occasion.

"Khal Liam!"

Liam sighs deeply before he halts his steps, turning so quickly that Zayn nearly smacks into his chest. The heat is terrible now; sweat dripping down onto the back of Zayn's neck. The cool shade of a wine booth sounds wonderful right now. He groans, dropping his head onto Liam's shoulder, "What if we just run?"

Liam puts an arm around his waist, holding him still, "Yes, Simon?"

"Sire, a merchant just came looking for you. He said he had a special delivery for the Khals."

Liam lights up at his words, making Zayn laugh under his breath. Endearing was probably the most accurate word he had to describe it, puppy-like if he were to go that far. "Did he drop it off then?"

"He left me this crate, Khal."

Liam releases his grip on Zayn to accept the package. The emptiness when Liam pulls away is stark, he's starting to notice - it's a bizarre sensation, one that Zayn isn't too fond of. He turns to send a light nod of acknowledgement towards Simon, who responds with a quick bow himself.

"Thank you," Liam tells Adivsor Cowell, "I'll have this cracked at dinner so that we may all have a taste."

Zayn sighs in frustration and Simon lets out a loud bark of laughter at his reaction. "I do think your husband wanted a taste sooner."

Zayn rolls out his shoulders in embarrassment, "It's just really hot," he explains, "That's all."

Liam shrugs, setting down the casket on a booth table near and cracks the tap open. He turns towards the stall, asking the man behind the counter if he had a tumbler of any kind. The man is very eager to please, Zayn notes, handing Liam what he desired as quickly as he finds it. It's incredible, the reach the name Liam Payne has in this world, and it sends a twinge of pride up Zayn's spine.

Liam hands him the cup, closing up the casket and handing it back to Simon. Zayn looks down at the blood red liquid and tips the tumbler towards Liam. "Do you want a little?"

Liam shakes his head, reaching back to place a hand on his back, "Was a gift for you."

"And now I'm offering you part of my gift," Zayn throws an elbow at his side as they walk, Liam taking the impact without so much as a wince. "You're being very rude."

"What can I say?" Liam smiles at him, drawing him closer, "I'm far too responsible to be drinking while my duties await."

Zayn rolls his eyes, ignoring Simon's lingering, pensive stare at the two of them, "Please. You just want to look good in front of the tribe."

"You're terrible," Liam squints at him happily.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, drowns the cup in one go at his words and immediately regrets his decision to do so as he begins to cough, eyes stinging.

"Careful," Simon admonishes him, "their brew is rich."

Zayn coughs again loudly, Liam rubbing circles in his back although he looks extremely amused and yes, Zayn definitely hates him. "Thanks for the advanced warning."

Liam rolls his eyes. "My irresponsible husband," he says, and Zayn thinks his tone is far too fond to be casual.

______

He has to duck out of lunch to empty his stomach at the back of the camp. Liam follows immediately, hands soothing down his back as Zayn coughs up the acidic taste in his mouth. He's flushed, body too hot and trembling, the way he feels right before he comes down with a terrible fever heat.

"You're ill," Liam says, frowning deeply.

Zayn shakes his head, "I was fine this morning. Must be the heat or something, it'll pass soon."

Liam makes a sound of displeasure, helping Zayn stand. He turns, calling out loudly for Harry, who appears in a few beats, looking winded and still holding his wooden spoon from his meal.

"Yes Liam?"

"Zayn is ill," Liam speaks directly over Zayn's protests that he's fine, "Will you make sure he gets some rest? I'd do it myself, but me and Advisor Cowell are meeting with some of the generals to speak of some matters dealing with out approach in Slaver's Bay."

Harry takes Zayn, holding him like he's made out of crystal, "Of course, Khal." Zayn struggles to straighten up, meeting Harry's gaze, which is far too fearful for his liking. The world seems to tip on its side as he blinks, shaking on his feet.

"Harry," he reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, "Are you alright?"

Harry helps him walk back towards camp slowly, Liam striding behind them quietly, "I'm fine, Zayn. I should be asking you that question."

"I'm dizzy," Zayn admits, feet tripping over themselves, "And it's really, really hot." He sways suddenly without meaning to whatsoever, falling backwards into Liam who shocks into catching him as quickly as he can.

"Harry," Liam snaps, hand reaching up to press against Zayn's forehead for a moment. "Take him inside. He's feverish."

The sunlight is so bright that it hurts his eyes. Zayn shoves out of his grip to balance precariously on his feet, "I'm okay," he breathes, "Just need to lie down, yeah."

Harry reaches to grip his shoulders, steering him into a tent, and pushing him down into the nearest chair. Dimly he hears Liam shout for Harry to be careful followed shortly by Harry yelling for the divan to be set up.

He blinks, rubbing his fists over his eyes to clear the fuzziness, "Harry?"

"Yes, Zayn?" There are gentle hands through his hair, massaging his head in a way that feels wonderful.

"I really want to sleep."

Harry sighs but pulls him to his feet again despite Zayn's whines to be left alone. "The divan is here," he says, "You'll feel better once you rest up."

Incredibly, Zayn has an exceedingly difficult time even crawling into the divan, his limbs loose to the point where they don't seem to obey his will any longer. Harry pulls the furs up to his waist, placing a cool washrag on his forehead. Zayn feels like there should be smoke - the sizzling of his heated skin pressed against the icy rag is a cause for instant, tremendous relief.

He closes his eyes, "What sort of sickness is this?"

"I don't know," Harry says quietly, "I don't know anything."

______

Zayn stirs wake to a press of weight on the edge of the divan, a cool hand stroking softly down the side of his neck. It pauses as it reaches his shoulders, a thumb rubbing soothingly over his clavicle.

"Has he not woken even once?" The voice is hushed and worried, "What's wrong with him, Haz?"

There's a long pause and Zayn has to strain to hear anything in his muddled haze of a mind. More urgently, something is building in the back of his throat, an uncomfortable pressure that causes him to turn over away from the body at his side, the hand previously stroking him falling away.

"I think he's been poisoned, sire."

" _Poisoned_? By _what_?" Alarm. Panic. Zayn thinks he should be feeling those emotions as well, but he can barely breathe over the blockage in his throat. He takes in a choked breath and the voices in the room shut off immediately.

There's a silence for a few tense, baited seconds.

"Zayn?" There's a hand at the back of his head, "Can you hear me?"

He coughs, sucking in a deep breath of air, but nothing's reaching his lungs. Zayn sputters, eyes opening in terror as he sits up. He takes in the sight in front of him, Liam on the divan beside him, Harry pacing back and forth at his feet. He inhales deeply again - but nothing. The fear is steadily crawling up his spine, head spinning from the lack of oxygen.

"Zayn?" Liam takes his hand hesitantly, but he rips his fingers out of his hold, clawing at his throat in terror. Liam's eyes widen, "He can't breathe. Harry, _he can't breathe_."

And Harry's at his side instantly, a fist colliding with his back, so sudden that Zayn's coughing from the impact, blood dripping from his mouth as his airways open and blessedly cool air flowing back into his body. He gasps again, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, "Thank you," he says, shaking, " _Fuck_. Thank you."

Harry shakes his head, "Don't thank me yet. Some of the women are working on an antidote, thank us when it works."

"Poisoned?" he takes in Harry's dark gaze, "From what?"

Liam makes a soft noise of surprise at his side, drawing both pairs of eyes in the room, "The wine. It was the wine, wasn't it?"

"A herbal poison," Harry admits, "Practically undetectable except to the most trained tongue. Luckily it's a very slow working one, takes a few days to kill. Given the antidote tonight, you should be alright by tomorrow morning, though I wouldn't recommend getting anywhere near a horse."

Zayn closes his eyes, falling back against the divan. He breathes in deeply again, just to make sure he can, before wiping at the blood on his mouth with his sleeve and probably ruining the garment. "Guess they found me all the way out here, too."

"Who found you?" Liam asks. He sounds angry, like he's ready to take on whoever these men are right at this very moment. It's a nice thought; makes Zayn feel cared for.

"I'm the last of the House Malik," he points out, clearing his throat. Zayn leans his head on Liam's knee, Liam immediately pushing his hand under his hair to relieve the hard press of bone to Zayn's temple. "The Winston's know I want the throne back; they'll do anything to keep me off it. And what better way than to get rid of me completely."

Liam's silent for a few moments before he orders Harry out of the room, demanding that he bring the antidote as quickly as he possibly could. Zayn feels himself adjusted on the divan until there's enough room for Liam to slide in beside him. He remains sitting, however, leaned up against the sloping cushion and brings Zayn's head into his lap, thumbing gently over his ear.

"You will never eat or drink anything un-tasted ever again," Liam tells him. His tone is quiet but firm and leaves no room for argument. His body trembles beneath Zayn's and Zayn can feel the sob building in Liam far before he hears Liam's voice crack from emotion, "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry I did this to you, yeah."

Zayn huffs, "Honestly Liam - "

"I just want to make you happy," Liam confesses gently, "Like I'm really trying, but I don't seem to know how."

They're silent for a long few minutes. Zayn pretends not to notice the way Liam brings his hands up to wipe at his face.

"You do make me happy," he whispers back, throat hoarse from the coughing. Zayn hears Liam let out a self-deprecating laugh, "You _do,_ I swear it."

He doesn't get to listen to Liam's response because the tent curtain is thrown open and Harry is back, hands clutching at a glass tumbler filled with a dull green liquid. "Here it is," he says, thrusting the glass into Zayn's hands. "This should make you feel far better."

Zayn makes a face at the taste, but he downs it as quickly has he can. His stomach churns instantly as he struggles to keep down the strange liquid for a few moments. "This better work, Haz."

"It will, don't worry. Liam will probably have me hung if it doesn't."

______

It does work.

Unfortunately, Zayn can't seem to physically get out of bed the next day, jelly limbs collapsing beneath him when he gets out of the bath Harry draws for him. He needs to be physically carried back to bed and he doesn't make Harry's job easy, scowling and grumbling through every movement. When Cowell calls for Harry he goes eagerly, throwing a quick salute on his way out when Zayn grimaces at the thought of being left alone.

Fortunately so, Zayn's asleep before he can even consider making a scene to bring Harry back for some company. The bath itself was so exhausting, he's not sure how he's supposed to go back to traveling in two days time. According to Harry, the healing process was quick, but he doubts that even the lightest of poisons would only require a few days time to flush out.

Last time this had almost happened, Zayn had been reaching for a watermelon slice in a stand, the kind vendor offering it to him for free as a tribute to the Malik House, when Niall had appeared out of nowhere demanding that the vendor taste the fruit first. Turns out instantaneous poison with no antidote is very difficult to conceal because the vendor had run, though he hadn't gotten very far. His personal favorite was the ambush in the hunting grounds that left all the guards around him slain, leaving him to hide in the woods for a whole night before a royal search party had located him and brought him back to Horan' castle.

However, last night had probably been the closest brush with death he's had.

The next day, Zayn can finally walk without being winded, and though his muscles are sore there's no difficultly breathing or staying awake. At least no more than usual.

He stretches widely, noting the way the light gleamed through the tent opening, sun right overhead in the clear sky. Midday it was then.

The right side of the divan has long gone cold, Liam probably still planning the taking of Karth, which as he'd learned, was an extensive task. They'd have to enter underground and then penetrate the high city walls, allowing soldiers to reach the inner underground network of slaves, who would then have to rise up and overthrow the city above the earth. All of this would have to be done under the cover of nightfall, as any clue to their intentions would send nearly fifty thousand men marching their way.

At the moment though, it seems far away. Today is as hot as ever, maybe even hotter than yesterday, he notes, having stepped out after a quick wash. He's genuinely surprised that some of the drier grasses he can see off in the distance haven't caught alight in the scorching sun.

"What are you doing out here?"

Zayn looks towards the direction of the voice to find Liam loading a heavy looking crate into the back of a wagon that's already holding a siege canon. He shrugs, "I'm bored."

Liam dusts his hands off on his tunic as he makes his way towards Zayn, the frown on his face clearly visible. He's wearing his leather riding gear and just looking at it sends uncomfortable pricks down Zayn's spine because leather's not breathable; he knows first hand what it's like to be sweating in one of those things.  
"Go rest," Liam says sternly, reaching out to lightly shove Zayn back into the tent.

Zayn yelps, taking a few quick steps back, scowling, "You're disgusting in that, don't touch me."

"That so?" Liam grins widely, eyebrows raised mischievously. He strikes out, far faster than Zayn's expecting, throwing an arm around his neck and locking him in so Liam can rub his sweaty palms through his hair.

Zayn struggles against the grip hopelessly, " _Fuck_ ," he groans, "That's fucking awful, Liam, get off of me. I'm sick, be gentle with the injured - we're delicate."

"I'm so sorry, your highness," Liam's cheeks are pushed up in happiness, honest to god _giggling_ because apparently Zayn makes him that happy, "But without a little force you'd never listen."

Zayn rolls his eyes as they stumble back into the tent, Liam pushing him onto the divan. He flops easily this time, dramatically tossing his arms across his face, "I didn't even get to see the town," he complains, "I want fancy trinkets, Liam."

Liam huffs out a breath of laughter over his shoulder as he leaves , "If you're good, I'll bring you supper."

"You'll let me starve if I'm bad?" Zayn wiggles his eyebrows, but he stays put on the divan, "God Liam, what kind of a Khal are you?"

" _Stay here_. And please get some sleep."

______

Liam comes back in about three hours, a bowl full of the vegetable soup, that Zayn's grown to love, with a side of fresh strawberries and bread. The people of Liam's tribe are incredible cooks and sometimes he likes to take shameless advantage and wheedle Liam into getting them to make his favorite dishes.

"Hey," Liam greets him, setting down the wooden wedge with the meal on the side table, "Hopefully you're not too bored."

"I'm dying," Zayn says cheerfully. He's been messing with the petrified eggs all morning, painting details onto their plain surfaces. The cloth of the tent does nothing to keep out the heat so he ends up yanking the furs off of the divan and the tunic off his back, scrunching it in his fist to wipe at the sweat that's doing nothing to cool his body.

Eventually of course, he falls asleep, because try as he might to convince himself otherwise, the heaviness in his bones is undeniable.

"Stop," Liam's voice suddenly serious and the way his shoulders hunch inward makes Zayn ache, "Do not even joke about that."

"Liam, hey," Zayn reaches for him, pulling him forward gently until Liam's standing in-between his knees. " 'm sorry, yeah. Didn't mean to -"

"It's not your fault," Liam cuts him off, "Lady Maura - she told this to Cowell you know, we were informed about how dangerous things were for you, and I didn't. I didn't even think and you were so hurt." He shakes his head, cupping Zayn's face with a large palm, "Thank the lucky stars Harry was able to recognize the poison or we'd never have been able to create an antidote." Liam frowns sadly, "I'm really shit at taking care of you."

Zayn leans into the hand on his cheek, closing his eyes. He lets out a long rush of air, trying to find the words to explain. "C'mere," he says at last, scooting back on the divan, pulling Liam forward. The nerves are crippling and he can feel the way his hands are shaking when he reaches up to thumb over Liam's eyebrow, fingers splayed over his jawbone. He smiles a little, just push of his lips, "You're such a worrier."

Liam's very still under his ministrations, hand frozen at his previous position on Zayn's cheek. They're very close, Zayn realizes then starkly. So close that if he were just to lean forward a little more than half an inch -

Liam pulls back quickly, eyes wide as they jump between both of his own, "Zayn - _what_ \- "

"C'mon," Zayn says quietly, dragging him closer with an arm around his neck, "C'mon then Liam." Liam gives him a mildly terrified look, but Zayn wants all of a sudden, wants so much. Dragging Liam closer is surprisingly easy, pressing against him to kiss him is also surprisingly easy. He can't understand his previous fear anymore.

Liam's mouth is soft and wet, lips lightly chapped when they press against his own. He tastes slightly of salt, probably from the sticky heat, but Zayn presses closer, licking into his mouth until all he tastes is himself and a familiar sweetness that Liam seems to wholly embody with his entire being. He's never kissed anyone who smiled so much during before, and it makes him giddy, like a young one doing this for the absolute first time. He loves the way Liam's so eager, his emotions pushed up into the corners of his mouth and cheeks.

The smile remains on Liam's face, eyes pushed up into two happy little half-moons even when Zayn leans back, careful to keep the two of them pressed close. He's silent, running a hand down Liam's ribs, feeling them expand as he inhales.

Liam bites his lip at the touch, flushing a deep pink, "That tickles," he mutters, Zayn's eyes fleeting up to meet his at the hushed words. He can't resist, pressing in again, insisting on a last kiss to Liam's mouth before he draws back, throwing his arms around Liam to keep him crowded against his chest.

"I'm ridiculously fond of you," Zayn confesses, voice a lot calmer than he truly feels, "You make me feel so good."

Liam smiles against his neck and really that's all Zayn needs.

______

"You look cheerful for someone who was just on the brink of death."

Zayn hums, locking his gaze with Harry's in the mirror. The fucker has that knowing look in his eyes, though how he knows everything all the time is beyond Zayn entirely. "Good day."

"I'll bet." Harry smacks his shoulder, "Hair dry enough for you yet, princess?"

Zayn bats his hands away, taking the drying cloth out of Harry's hands to finish the job to his own satisfaction.

"I'm paid to do this you know," Harry complains in retaliation. "You should probably let me do my job before Liam brings someone in to replace me."

"He wouldn't."

"Course he wouldn't," Harry looks mildly disgusted, "Not unless you asked anyway."

Zayn tires to hide his smile in the cloth, "I like him."

"You should," Harry tells him wisely, "Liam's a wonderful man and he's your husband. But don't tell him I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

______

They reach Slaver's Bay on a surprisingly cloudy day. Despite the lack of sun, the humidity is worse than ever and Zayn's definitely getting really tired of sweating in his leather riding gear. He feels like a drowned cat, fringe matted to his forehead while his fingers slip on the reigns. Even his horse, a creature of great patience, whines unhappily.

It's even more terrible because Liam looks incredible in his gear even when he's all sweaty, and it's making it very difficult for Zayn to really pay attention to the road. It doesn't help at all that Liam seems to enjoy the attention, basking in the stares and sending Zayn shy smiles when he meets his eyes. Frankly, this must be the highest form of torture. Zayn simply doesn't know what to do with himself.

Things have been incredibly good in the past few days, and despite the fact that the rest of the tribe still treats Zayn a little coldly, it's given him hope that one day he'll be able to call these people his in a way no other people have been for him.

"Which city are we going to first?"

Liam turns in his saddle to smile at him even though the topic is less than cheerful, "Jahakar is just about an hour's walk from here. We'll probably begin there as they've been weakened by a large battle with Karth a few weeks back. Their lands have seen a great deal of famine in the past year too," Liam shakes his head sadly. "It'll most likely be more of a negotiation than any kind of uprising. Many are just desperate for something to eat and proper protection."

Zayn bites down on his tongue but the words escape before he can stop himself, "Sounds like Bradfordshire, then."

"Zayn," Liam sounds defensive. The first sign of a fight.

"It was just a statement," Zayn says resolutely, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"No it's not," Liam tells him, brows furrowed. His hands tighten on the reigns, "In Bradfordshire I have to bring down the Winston Army and that's no easy feat. We'll need ships, siege weapons, and as many men as we can get."

"Maura used to tell me that the people suffer at their hands, the military is exceedingly cruel, but that's how conquerors are generally." Zayn keeps his eyes averted, trying to ask the question without stating it.

But it doesn't slip past Liam, not that he really expected it to. "I don't - we don't slaughter, Zayn." Liam's voice grows soft, "I know of your parent's fate and how you must feel about such conquests, but my men never do more than take things they want. I can't forbid them from that - but no harm will come to those who don't get in our way."

"Okay," Zayn nods. He's hesitant, "I'm not - not willing to - "

"I wouldn't let you anyway," Liam grins at him, "You've never blooded anyone despite all the battle ink you wear, I'm not a fool."

"It's not battle ink," he feels the need to explain this, wants to remove the shameful connotation of the ink that he supposedly doesn't deserve, "In the House Malik, they are simply decoration. My mother had never so much as touched a sword and she had many of her own, not that I remember all that clearly, but I have seen the portraits."

Liam raises his eyebrows, though he looks mildly guilty, "Wish I knew that before," he confesses, "I've been evading the question every time someone's asked me about it."

"Should've asked then," Zayn tells him. He hopes his tone is as pointed as he feels.

Liam flushes, "I'm sorry. I - you terrify me a little."

"Me?" Zayn asks incredulously, but now Liam's looking straight ahead and it looks as though he's struggling to keep his face calm. He follows his gaze, "What - ?"

Smoke. Thick tufts of it rising high above the horizon in a black haze, obscuring anything in its path. It's nothing like the time he and Niall accidentally set one of the kitchen ovens on fire, smells nothing like it either.

"Sire!"

Liam rides up ahead, large men in battle armor surrounding him as Zayn strains to hear their low, urgent voices. Unfortunately, their words are indistinguishable, too fast for him to pick up on. All he knows is that Liam's shoulders lock up, tense with fear. He has an urge to press a hand there the way Liam does for him so often to calm him.

A few terrible moments of silence pass. Zayn turns to see the way the tribe is restless, many turned towards the smoke, whispering amongst themselves. Harry and Cowell are having a fierce conversation next to one of the food wagons, Harry throwing his hands up at one point, but Cowell doesn't let him turn, holding him down with a fierce hand and his eyes glint cold. Zayn feels a shiver crawl up his back, but his attention is broken with Liam's voice.

"Every man who knows how to bear a sword will accompany me to see why the city of Jahakar burns. Anybody who cannot fight will remain here at the camp. We leave in ten minutes," Liam's face is hard. Zayn's seen that look before, especially on the ship guards that used to protect Maura's ships from piracy.

"Liam -" he almost slips off the saddle in his effort to get to him.

Liam meets his eyes quickly, ducking under his generals to get to Zayn. "Hey," he sounds a little out of breath, "listen -."

"What's happened? Where are you going?" He reaches out to grip Liam's wrist tightly because suddenly, Zayn can't let Liam go into a burning city, not even with all the men in the world surrounding him.

"Zayn," Liam's voice is purposefully soothing, as though he's speaking to a cornered wild animal, "I'll be back in the morning, okay, we’re just going to collect the survivors. It looks like some sort of attack."

"Okay," Zayn says and he can see the way Liam's men collect impatiently behind the generals, trickling in tens at a time. The tribe is even bigger than he'd imagined, so caught up in himself that he hadn't even realized. "Where do I - "

"You stay here," Liam's voice leaves no room for argument. He reaches to cup a hand behind Zayn's head, threading his fingers through his hair, "Harry will show you the ropes, all you have to do is set up the night watch with some of the men I leave behind."

Zayn glances nervously to his left at the way camp is being set up swiftly, "They won't listen to me."

"Zayn," Liam's eyes are hard, "how are you going to rule the Seven Kingdoms if you can't order a few women and children around?"

Zayn scoffs, "You make it seem like women and children are the easy part."

A ghost of a smile appears on Liam's face and he ducks closer, leaning his forehead against Zayn's. He watches, breath catching when Liam's eyes squeeze shut. "I'll see you soon," Liam murmurs just for him, eyes still closed, "I'll be back before you wake in the morning."

Zayn squeezes his wrist, "I'll be waiting."

When Liam draws back after a few moments there's a pink blush dusted across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "You'll be asleep," he counters, "I know you very well. But thank you for the pretty words."

Zayn smiles at him softly and Liam leaves with the flick of his wrist on the reigns.

______

The Dorthraki do listen to him, although not without a few jeers here and there. Zayn's not sure what he's done to upset them, but Harry had once told him that it was a combination of a lack of trust and respect. He can read between the lines though, understand that he's not exactly living up to the expectations the Dorthraki had for him. Zayn gets it, really he does - he's the last of the House Malik, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the rightful heir of Bradfordshire, part of a family that's filled with dragon lore and mystic - even he expected a little more at some point.

The night is fairly uneventful though, not that he hopes for more. He's actually a little proud - at least the camp's not up in flames when everybody turns in for the night. He puts up an overlapping rotational round watch to make sure the camp's guarded at all times even in case a group of Liam's men choose to disobey him. He knows logically it probably won't happen, but Zayn can never be too careful in his life - and he doesn't want to let Liam down.

"Everything go okay tonight?" Harry's nervous today, fiddling with the oil lamp on Zayn's side, turning it up too bright and then too dim like he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"Fine," Zayn muses, rubbing at the dragon eggs he's got laying in his lap, "A little worried about Liam - "

"Liam will be fine," Harry snaps in return, "he's done this many times before, there have been far more dangerous and trying times."

"Okay," Zayn says slowly. He watches as Harry finally stops fidgeting with the lamp, the way his hands tremble. "Are you alright? You've been a little off."

Harry looks up to finally look him in the eyes. It's only then that Zayn looks at him, really looks at him since that day Liam had caught them. He looks worn, skin pale, under eyes pulled down and dark in exhaustion. "I'm fine, just tired."

"Are you ill?" Zayn asks him softly. He reaches a hand out to Harry's wrist but Harry draws back like Zayn's touch burns.

"No," Harry says, but his voice sounds hoarse, "It's just been a long couple of days. Please may I just go to bed?"

"Would you like to stay? Liam isn't here and I don't like being here alone." That's a lie - he's mostly offering because suddenly the thought of Harry sleeping in the same tent as Advisor Cowell makes his stomach churn.

"Don't think Liam would appreciate that," he shoots Zayn a wry smile, "besides I still have work to do."

Zayn gets to his feet, "Tell me what it is - let me help. I'll do whatever it is so you can - "

Harry laughs, but it's a bitter sound, "Can't. Sorry, princess. Besides, I'm paid for my job, let me do it." His shoulders slump though, crushing suddenly, and then he's reaching for Zayn, wrapping him in a hug that's far too tight. Zayn leans his head against his shoulder, feeling the way Harry's heart is thumping far too quickly for a calm night in. "I can handle it, Zayn, trust me."

"Okay," Zayn tells him, pulling back to pat his shoulders, "But please tell me if there's something I can do for you, alright."

Harry regards him for a long moment, eyes all green and round in the firelight. "You're going to be a great king someday," he whispers, "Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Zayn feels something knot in his throat, "Okay."

He gets a faint smile for his reply, Harry leading him back towards the sleeping area after taking the eggs from Zayn and placing them around the oil lamp to keep them warm, "Get some sleep. Liam will have my head if you're tired when he gets back."

"You too, Haz."

______

A sound wakes Zayn deep into the night. He's not sure what the hour is, only that it's far too early for there to be any light. At first, he thinks it's Liam finally returning, but there's no comforting weight on the empty end of the divan. He sits up, holding his breath in an effort to listen more closely. The rustling continues after a beat of silence, so he slips out of bed quietly, pulling back the furs to pad across the floor. The rustling gets louder the closer he gets to the tent front. Most of his belongings are back in the wagon, the only thing in front of the flap is a small table and chair set, a mirror, and the oil lamp that Harry leaves on for him so there's some light just in case something happened.

He takes a deep breath before shoving into the front area as fast as he can, briefly regretting leaving his sword on the wagon even if he couldn't do much with it.

The figure stops, a burlap sack in their hand.

_"Cowell?"_

Simon looks up at him and something about his stance is incredibly guilty.

"What in hell are you doing here?"

"Sorry, sire," Simon tells him quickly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

Zayn narrows his eyes, taking a step forward, "Clearly." He reaches towards Simon, pulling the sack out of his grasp, noting the way the man's hands flex in anger when he does so. A peek inside reveals what he'd assumed, "Where are you taking these then?"

Simon hesitates, "To get them cleaned, sire."

"Where's Harry? Isn't this his job?" Zayn pulls the sack closer to his body, the sudden protectiveness over three stones overwhelming his body. Something about them screams that they're his property, not to be touched.

Simon takes a step back, holding up his arms, "Harry is extremely tired, I didn't want to wake him at such an hour - "

"Why are you awake at such an hour," Zayn counters. He's struggling to keep calm, gripping the sack so tight he can feel his knuckles turning white, "Return to your tent and Liam will speak with you about this in the morning."

Simon looks at him for a long moment, before he turns away, shaking his head, "I don't know what I've done to make you so paranoid, but -"

" _Leave_ ," Zayn commands him, heard pounding, "Leave or I'll call in guards."

Simon raises his hands up again, palms open and facing Zayn. He bows, "As you wish, Khal."

Zayn doesn't go back to bed until he watches Simon reach his tent and disappear inside. Even then, he sleeps with the eggs tucked into his chest, gripping them the way he sometimes grips Liam on his worst nights.

______

"Zayn," there's a warm voice in his ear, and it sounds like it's fighting back laughter, "What in God's name are you doing?"

Zayn mumbles something, tightening his hold when he feels the rough burlap material being tugged from his grasp. He groans unhappily and pulls the furs up. Everyone keeps interrupting his sleep.

There's more light laughter, a harsher tug.

At this, Zayn steels his grip, tugging back hard. The pressure immediately releases.

"Love - "

He blinks his eyes open to rid himself of his sleep, Liam's tired eyes coming into view slowly. He relaxes, "Liam. Hi."

Liam smiles back at him, eyes crinkling as he reaches to tug a hand through his hair, "Hey you. Sorry - wasn't going to wake you, but you're sort of," Liam gestures to the way he's wrapped around the bag.

Zayn shifts back, laughing lightly. "I've replaced you," he tells him, solemn.

"And I was only gone one night," Liam pouts ridiculously.

"One night too long," he mutters as he turns to press the bag above his head, opening up the side of the divan for Liam to get in.

Liam watches him curiously, "That can't be comfortable," he remarks, at last, "Let me put them out on -"

"No," He snaps suddenly. The reaction coming from deep inside of him, but when he sees Liam's shock, he tries to lower his voice, "I mean. Please don't take them. I just - I don't know, okay. Just don't take them."

"I'm not going to take them," Liam tells him, hushed, sliding under the furs and cupping Zayn's lower back, "They're for you."

Zayn yelps when Liam pushes his cold nose into his neck, "Fuck," he mutters, gasping again when cold toes press against his shins, "Get out of my bed, fucker."

Liam just laughs, snuggling close, "I had a long night, now hush and let me sleep."

"Fuck," Zayn says again, "I hate you." Liam's fingers walk under shirt at that, making Zayn twist away, and now he's laughing, Liam making grabby hands at him, "You're a fucking child, get off of me."

"Zayn," Liam whines, "I've been cold all night."

"And I've been warm all night, go be cold elsewhere," Zayn's protesting, but he's already relaxing, allowing Liam to use him like a bloody space heater. He sighs when the cold nose presses back into the nape of his neck, "Fuck."

"You have terrible language," Liam huffs, "I thought you were cultured."

"Twat."

Liam laughs, rubbing his hands down his back as he hums lowly. He's clearly exhausted. Zayn feels bad in a way, but he sort of has to know, "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"At the city," he stresses, "What happened at the city?"

"Not much," Liam admits, yawning, "Was exactly what I said it was going to be - a rescue mission. Apparently Karth attacked two nights ago and the battle wasn't finished until early this morning. All of Jahakar's walls fell and soon after, most of their army." Liam shakes his head, whispering, "So many dead. And we don't know why."

"You don't know why?" Zayn asks, and it's startling. That Karth, any city really, would waste so much time and resources for such completely senseless destruction.

"No," Liam admits, "the survivors - mostly former slaves since many lived underground - say they were looking for something."

"In Jahakar? What for?"

He feels rather than sees Liam shrug, "I've got no idea, doesn't make much sense to raze a city when you could've sent in a couple of scouts and done the job from the inside out, you know."

And Zayn does know, battle planning was something Maura had insisted on him learning. He's never used it in application, but the actions seem ridiculous even to his inexperienced ears, "Well did they find it at least?"

Liam shakes his head, breath tickling Zayn's clavicle, "Apparently not. It turned into a blood bath - the carnage was terrible." Liam sighs and he blinks awake, Zayn can tell by the way his eyelashes beat against his throat, "We've been running a few days late since the market. I was supposed to be in Jahakar three days back - could've done something, maybe."

Zayn skates a hand down Liam's back gently, "You did all you could."

"I know," Liam murmurs, "But I could've done more you know."

"Liam," he sighs, "get some rest."

"We're going to Karth," Liam says suddenly, completely ignoring Zayn's request. "It's our next stop actually, we've got enough men, and Karth's crucial - it'll give us the numbers to get to Bradfordshire."

"Isn't Harry from Karth?" Zayn asks, it's just a thought, something he remembers in fleeting.

"He is," Liam replies, "But - Harry. He's from the pleasure houses, he's probably never even seen the city and he's definitely not going to know any sort of battle plans."

"How did you meet him?" he asks, "Like - he mentioned he was from Karth. But did he -? How did you come across him?"

Liam shakes with light laughter at Zayn's clear hesitance to ask the question, but he answers nonetheless, "I've never been to the pleasure houses, Cowell brought him along one day and Harry was eager for a learning opportunity. He was harmless, bless him, thought it'd do him some good. As for me, Karth and my tribe had an understanding since I used to have no desire to build an army. A small tribe is more than enough responsibility anyway. They're located right by the seaports that lead to Bradfordshire and the goods that come through are still rich and bountiful. It was my men's protection of Karth as they built their ranks in exchange for the goods, but like all partnerships, interests change."

Zayn swallows, tracing patterns on the broad of Liam's back. He leans his cheek on Liam's head, "Was that because of me?"

"Yes," Liam doesn't sound sorry, as if it were just a change of the seasons, "Anyway, their ranks are massive and getting Karth - we'd get their ships and harbors. It's how we're going to get you home, love."

Zayn stays silent for a long time, blinking into the dark of the tent.

"What then?" he asks at last. He feels Liam tense a little, curses himself for asking the question, "What happens after I win the throne?"

"You rule," Liam replies immediately, "Those people need guidance, especially after the Winston's ruthless -"

"I meant to you," Zayn interrupts, "You - you're the Khal of the Dorthraki nomads. Your people will not stay in a city, much less under my rule. Where will you go?"

"Zayn," Liam says very gently and suddenly, Zayn can't bear to be let down easy.

"It's fine - " he breaks, "I was just. It's - I know it's why we married just -"

"I would never abandon you," Liam continues as if he hadn't heard Zayn speak. He draws back from Zayn's neck, finally locking eyes with him, "I promised I'd take care of you, I won't leave you alone."

Zayn smiles tightly, using his fingers to lightly tug through Liam's hair, watching the way the length of it now curled lightly at the ends. And abruptly he wonders if Liam ever looked like that, a head full of sweet curls above those doe eyes. Perhaps when he was younger, "Those are pretty words, Li - "

"I can't stay with you," Liam confesses honestly. He sounds pained, "You know I can't Zayn, my people - we're not. All the grasslands we roamed, that's my territory. It's all holy land. If I settled, I'd lose it in a heartbeat you understand?"

Zayn draws back like he's been burned, but Liam doesn't let him get very far, "I know," he says, "But. You said you wouldn't leave." He sounds like a child now; he knows it.

Liam's eyes turn tender, "Don't you realize how much I care for you?"

Zayn feels his eyes burn at the corners and he groans. He swears he never used to be a crier until his life changed in this way. He ducks his head but Liam seems to know what he's after, hands coming to cradle his face, "I do," he says, "So it's not exactly wrong of me to want you to stay."

"I didn't say it was wrong," Liam argues. He seems to struggle with his words for a moment. "Do you know why Maura agreed to our match so easily?"

Zayn's brow crinkles, "Because you had forty thousand men?"

"Sort of," Liam laughs, squeezing Zayn's cheeks embarrassingly, "I had forty thousand men and I was tied to a place far from Bradfordshire. So, when the time came, I would never fight you for power because I'd have other obligations."

Zayn feels an ache deep in the underside of his ribs. Maura had thought of everything, almost too efficient in her effort to protect Zayn. He knows he should thank her, but all he has in this very moment is resentment. "You never would try to take something that didn't belong to you," Zayn whispers, "I know you well."

Liam brings him close, kissing his forehead, "Not many believe that about the Dorthraki. You'll come to see that very soon." Zayn feels the way the fight drains out of him entirely, and for the first time in his months here, Zayn remembers how young Liam is. Barely twenty to his twenty-one, leading battles and commanding entire clans and cities. "We'll make it work," Liam whispers to him, "I swear, Zayn, I'll do everything I can."

"You'll be across a sea," Zayn realizes, with quick horror, "I'll be in Bradforshire, up near the Old Country - "

"You'll unite the Seven Kingdoms," Liam cuts him off quietly, "It's what you were born to do - and hey, you'll be my King then. I'll answer to you."

Zayn laughs, pushing his cheek into Liam's chest as he turns to lie on his back, "I'm going to command you to stay."

Liam smiles warmly, eyes disappearing into a thick lash line when he leans down to kiss Zayn quickly. Zayn holds him down though, thrown that everything's going to be pulled from him just as soon as he'd finally figured it out. Liam makes a sound low in his throat, licking into his mouth for a few long moments. His chest rises and falls quicker than before under Zayn's hand when he pulls back.

"We probably have a year or two to go," Liam tells him, "Nothing to worry about so soon."

"I've already been married to you for five months," Zayn whispers, "It seems to go by quickly."

Liam snorts, pressing his cheek to Zayn's temple, "Someone's keeping track."

"Are you not?" Zayn pokes him in the stomach, watching with fascination as Liam squirms away, muttering about being ticklish. He carefully files that information away for later, "You do realize I'm going to demand a gift in a few weeks. Six months is a big deal, Liam."

"Course it is," the smile in Liam's words can be heard clearly. He sounds so fond that it warms Zayn from the inside out, "What would you like then?"

Zayn shrugs. "Something expensive," he says, conspiring.

Liam laughs, "I'll see what I can do, babe."

"I'll hold you to that."

______

It's only the next morning, as ironic as it sounds, that Zayn remembers that he forgot to mention the happenings with Simon to Liam the night before. Cowell, who as far as Zayn can tell, has acted as if nothing was wrong, not coming near Zayn all morning, spending most of his time in a tent with Liam, Harry, and a few other battle generals - something about planning and unexpected movement by Karth.

They're not moving out today, spending the day camped to take care of some of the injured from Jahakar. Liam's ordered that the tribe will be at a standstill until most everyone is ready to be on their feet again. The first thing Zayn does after the announcement is bury his dragon eggs in the back of Liam's private wagon, hidden under a large shield in what looks to be a weapon's chest. There's something in him that screams to not take any chances, a fierce protectiveness rising in his chest at the thought of harm coming to them.

It's unusual, he'll admit, but he doesn't have a lot of time to idly dwell on the thought, Liam's left him the duty of taking care of the survivors from Jahakar. Almost all of them are ex-slaves and they eye him distrustfully as he makes rounds around the camp. Some are being taken into medical tents by the healers for cuts and bruises, others are walking through the crowds, looking and calling for loved ones. But most are huddled around campfires, wrapped in the furs Liam's men must have distributed last night.

Zayn's not going to lie, he's not sure how he's going to approach them, much less feed, clothe, and set up bath rotations. He'll also have to check with the stable boys to make sure at least half have horses. He stands for a moment, lost, watching the cooking fires light up.

The tribe still doesn't acknowledge him, and although he still hears the occasional snide remark, they're no longer disrespectful to his face. At the end of the day, Zayn assumes this is probably the best he's going to get - at least for a while.

He orders a few men and women to round up spare clothing while the meal is being prepared, before approaching a set of about fifteen of Jahakar's people. For the most part the children move back in fear when he approaches, women clutching them to their chests. The men are all bravado, stepping in front of their wives and mothers when Zayn passes. He knows nothing that comes out of his mouth is going to do any good, so best to have them hear it from each other.

Though that does mean he has to start somewhere.

"I've set up stations where you may clean off if you wish," he says, raising his voice to be heard over the ruckus. Multiple pairs of eyes snap to him immediately and Zayn fights the urge to flinch. He's never been too fond of crowds. "My men are handing out clothing and shoes for those who wish to have them - lunch will be served shortly after. Once you are finished, address another group of your people to do the same."

"Who're you then?" The voice is fleeting, gone before Zayn can pinpoint from whom it comes from.

Zayn straightens, taking a deep breath, "Khal of the Dorthraki."

An elderly woman standing in front of him raises her eyebrows. "Liam Payne came to our rescue for some reason last night. He has always been the ruler of these tribes."

"Right," Zayn nods. He twists his fingers into his tunic before realizing what he was doing. Showing nervousness was never a smart choice, "I'm his husband, yeah. Zayn," he hesitates, "Zayn Malik."

The hushed words in the crowd start up almost immediately and Zayn feels the tips of his ears heat in embarrassment.

The woman in front of him laughs, "So the rumors are true then, he did take you for himself." She cocks her head to the side, "You seem oddly relaxed for a prisoner."

"What?" It takes him a moment to digest the woman's words, "No. I - _no_. Me and him were arranged by my host family." Liam's words echo in his head and Zayn feels slightly sick for a moment.

"You were lucky then," she tells him, shaking her head, "His men have never been kind before, they come in and take what they want, regardless of how little we have." He wrinkles her nose as she takes in the camp, "Savages, the lot of them. What's wrong with a proper house anyway."

Zayn grits his teeth, the attack cutting down into his flesh, "Do not speak so lowly of my people, madam."

"Oh?" The woman clearly has more to say, but a terrified looking young man pulls her aside, whispering in her ear with angry motions of his hand.

Zayn lets out a long rush of air, removing his gaze from her to watch the way more people have crowded, watching their exchange with curious eyes. He raises his voice again, "None of you will be harmed, I give you my word. All we -"  
"How do we know? We've dealt with the Dorthraki before, we hear the Khal is building an army."

Zayn clenches his fist, fighting back the urge to shout, "Liam," he snaps, harsher than he probably should, "has given you the freedom you have craved since the early days. He has literally pulled you from a burning city and if you will not show gratitude then I except common decency." He takes a deep breath, trying to soften his voice, "No one will be forced to join our ranks - those that wish to return to Jahakar to rebuild may do so freely, with no threat of harm. Those that wish to stay will be most welcome. But right now," Zayn gestures to the far end of the camp, "we wish for you to make yourself comfortable, bathe, and eat. The decision may wait until dawn tomorrow." He pauses, "Any injured may also step forward to be treated."

Shockingly, people listen. Zayn tries to reign in his surprise so it's not quite so obvious to everyone, but it's a pleasant feeling. He can give orders and people will listen - it's reassuring in an odd way.

He sighs, slumping, but jumps again at the voice that comes from his right.

"Nice job."

Zayn rolls his eyes, "How much of that were you listening to?"

Liam grins, pulling back the flap of the tent to exit. He walks towards Zayn, not bothering with those around him that call greetings or bow, reaching forward to pull Zayn into an embrace no matter how much he protests otherwise.

"Liam," he hisses, "people are staring, get off of me."

Liam laughs, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss. Zayn can tell he's elated by how high his cheeks are pushed, eyes bright in the morning sunshine. "Thank you," he tells him and Zayn already knows what it's for.

"You don't have to thank me," Zayn reaches down to thread their fingers together, "I was just telling them the truth."

"You called the Dorthraki your people."

Zayn narrows his eyes, "You heard the whole fucking thing," he laments, "and you couldn't come out and help?"

"It's not me that's going to be a king of seven lands," Liam argues, but he's beaming so Zayn can't even bring himself to argue right now, "Also," Liam moves back to look at him, one hand still around his shoulders, "I'm glad you finally feel comfortable here."

Zayn kicks out at the dirt a little childishly, "I'm trying."

"I know you are," Liam assures him.

They stand in silence for a while, watching as some of the people from Jahakar trade off on their stations, the whole lot of them slowly but surely following orders. Zayn rests his forehead on Liam's arm, but Liam sighs, squeezing his shoulder in response, "I have to go back," Liam tells him disappointedly, "Sort of left to see what you were talking about, but my men and Cowell are waiting for me."

Zayn stands sharply at his words, "That reminds me," he says, making sure to keep his voice low, "I found Cowell in our tent the night you left for Jahakar. Far before dawn, taking my dragon eggs for cleaning. Or so he claims."

Liam looks at him, brows furrowed. But he shrugs, "Maybe he'd meant to do it before and had forgotten. I know Harry does that nonsense sometimes, wakes up knowing he forgot to drain the bath or something."

"No," Zayn insists. He shakes his head, "He was going to take them. I know it okay, Liam - he was trying to take them."

Liam opens his mouth in a laugh, "Is that why you had them in bed with you, then?" He thumbs over Zayn's cheek fondly, "Come on, love, what would he do with them anyway?"

"Liam," he steps back, watching as Liam's hand falls away, "You're not taking this seriously."

"No," Liam raises his eyebrows, "You're clearly taking this far too seriously. Those eggs have been petrified for hundreds of years, they're just pretty rocks now, and definitely not enough for you to accuse my most trusted advisor of petty crimes."

"That's not what I'm - " Zayn makes a frustrated sound, tugging his hands through his hair, "There's something wrong with Harry too. There's something _off_ Liam -"

"Zayn," Liam's voice is gentle but firm, "I've ruled with Harry and Simon for nearly two years now and I know them very well, Zayn. I don't want foolish accusations clouding our partnership."

There's a long moment of silence where Liam goes to leave.

"You're not listening to me," Zayn says, and his eyes are trained on the ground, at his feet, "You're brushing me aside because I'm inexperienced in matters of counsel and new to the Tribe, but I know what I saw Liam. And you're not listening."

He hears Liam sigh before there's an arm around his waist, bringing him close, and a kiss pressed to his temple. "I'm listening, Zayn, I promise, but I'm only going to put stock in things that actually make sense." He pats Zayn's side and the action has never felt condescending before this moment. Or maybe Zayn's simply angry. "Now please get those people their clothes and their meals. I don't want a revolt on my hands."

Zayn closes his eyes tightly, "Okay."

______

They don't move out for five weeks, much to Liam's frustration and Zayn's boredom. It's something about making those from Jahakar feel comfortable - Harry says being a slave leaves you skittish, convinced that everyone's out to hurt or use you. Zayn's actually surprised about the numbers that choose to stay; he estimates they've added almost two thousand men to their ranks and almost an equal number of women and children. What's even more surprising is the fact that the people of Jahakar, unlike the Dorthraki nomads, have taken a liking Zayn. They bow to him far more than they bow to Liam.

"That's how it'll be actually," Liam tells him once in explanation. "Nomads aren't very respected outside the Grassland Sea- you'll have all the influence in city crowds."

As a result, he ends up in charge of their workings, overseeing the mass building of wagons and horse exchanges. It's nice in some ways, gives Zayn something to do other than stress over the Dragon eggs, especially as the weather turns progressively cooler. By his estimates winter should be upon them in full force in another few weeks and when he tells Liam as such, the tribe sets its way out to Karth immediately. Traveling in snow, Liam tells him as they round up their possessions, is even more miserable than the heat.

Karth, for a lack of better words, is simply magnificent. The entire city is built into the side of a mountain, fortified with thick walls and multiple, circular tiers of watchtowers and guards. Zayn's not sure how they're going to get within marching distance, much less actually take the city fully. The underground slave networks are supposed to be massive, stretching out past the city walls and deep underground into the nearby woods. This, Liam tells him, is how they plan to get in.

They make sparse camp throughout the nearby forest, about a mile and a half away from the edge of the underground slave cities. Liam doesn't allow them to get too comfortable, is constantly on edge about being spotted by the high towers or even being raided by the slave population. He spends late nights in a planning tent with Cowell and his best generals, leaving Zayn to care for the tribe. He thinks they might be warming up to him sometimes, but then he catches one more dirty look at his exposed ink.

It's yet another lonely night in the tent. Liam's promised to come back in about an hour, but Zayn knows by the kiss that he left with that he won't be back until the early morning hours. He's not sure how he functions on such little sleep, especially during battle. But Liam seems antsy; rolling his shoulders and complaining of pain he won't let Zayn work out with his hands. So, Zayn chalks it all up to the adrenaline, the way the world is too quiet before a fight.

Harry's here at least, and usually that'd be a source of comfort, but things have been weird between them lately.

"Are you alright?" Zayn's getting tired of asking that question; Harry never seems to have a straight answer these days, that is if he chooses to answer at all.

Harry laughs in a way that sounds far too loud, too fake in response, "Zayn honestly, for the hundredth time, I'm fine."

Zayn reaches out to grip his shoulder, "You should stay here tonight. Harry, please."

"Cowell will want me to -"

"Cowell's making plans with Liam, you know they won't be back until tomorrow morning," Zayn leads him softly but firmly back towards the divan, "And you look like you haven't slept in weeks. I'm worried about you, Haz."

And it's true, Harry's usually bright green eyes are dull, face worn with exhaustion that Zayn hasn't seen since he used to look in the mirror in the very early days of his marriage. It looks like stress, like Harry is held together by nothing more than his dimpled smile, far more uncommon and forced these days.

"Okay," he replies reluctantly. Really, Zayn's not giving him much choice, has practically forced him down into the divan and pulled the furs over his body, tucking them around Harry tightly until he's wrapped like a serving of rolled meat.

Zayn grins, clambering over him to lie on his back on the open side, "Good. Because I have a few questions for you." He frowns at the way Harry stiffens suddenly, "It's about something the people of Jahakar were saying. What did you think -"

"I thought you wanted to relieve me of my duties," Harry says quietly, twisting his fingers together.

Zayn turns on his side to face him. They've left the lamp on in the front of the tent, and the faint glow lights up the entire area. Harry looks very small in this light, despite his lanky height. "Why in hell would I have done that?"

Harry doesn't look at him when he answers, "You seem frustrated with me lately, and I know I haven't performed up to your expectations."

"Harry," Zayn gentles a hand on his shoulder, "Man, you're my friend, yeah. I wouldn't do that to you and if you don't want to talk about what's bothering you then I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. I'll leave you be."

Harry looks pained, "No. I -"

"It's okay," Zayn soothes him softly, wants Harry to be comfortable. "Let's just jump into what I was gonna ask you, okay?" He peers at him for confirmation, continuing only when he receives a slight nod in agreement, "Why are the Dorthraki called savages? I mean, it's like - Liam's honestly doing a lot of good work and who doesn't have an agenda these days. They're a little closed off, yes, traditional, maybe, but not - bad? Why is there so much fear? So many horror stories?"

Harry is silent for a while, seems to be lost to a thought Zayn doesn't have access to. He clears his throat, "That's because the Dorthraki have always been vicious. Freeing slaves and not ransacking cities is a new chapter in Dorthraki history, one that became popular when the Paynes rose to power."

"Rose to power?" Zayn furrows his brow, "Didn't Liam inherit the title from his father? At least, that's what Maura told me."

"Sort of," Harry turns to grin at him wryly, "But that's not really how power transfer happens in nomadic tribes. You see, we are entirely travel based, a person is only Khal as long as they can ride. A Khal who cannot mount his horse is no Khal. Before Liam's father challenged the title, there were other Khals. Violent ones. When cities or villages were taken, every able bodied man was slaughtered, and the rest sold as slaves for gold."

"The Dorthraki don't believe in money," Zayn accuses, suddenly defensive. These are the stories he remembers, the ruthless riders that scavenged the Great Grassland Sea for their next target. It all seems so different than the reality he knows now.

"Not money maybe, but they do believe in gold," Harry admits. "That's how they used to trade with Karth - up until the Paynes began their system of services in exchange for goods. Being a Dorthraki rider was - I mean it still is extremely dangerous. But Khals, Zayn, they die young, and they die bloody. Every wondered why Liam was given charge of the entire tribe at eighteen?"

Zayn swallows back the sick feeling in his throat. It's not that he doesn't know, Maura had mentioned it herself that Liam's father had died unfortunately in battle, but it's - it's the way that Liam throws himself into attacks with ferocity, the way he treats himself like every other soldier, the way he _is_ a soldier, but most definitely _not_ at the same time.

He hears Harry laugh lowly, "Think I've done enough damage for one night. Get some sleep Zayn, you'll have other nights to stay up worrying and I fear they will be upon us soon."

Zayn hides his face in his pillow, only falling asleep once Harry's breathing evens out twenty minutes later.

______

Zayn can't forget Harry's words, the worry every time he sees Liam walking around with his men in his armor is so acute, he feels sick. Eventually, of course, like all other times, Liam notices.

"Love," his voice is gentle, pressed against the side of his neck. He's got Zayn trapped, wide hands on his hips, chest pressed to Zayn's back, "You've been ridiculously quiet."

Zayn takes deep breaths to calm himself, but it does nothing to soothe his racing heart. He's sure Liam can feel it, "I'm alright, Liam."

"No you aren't," Liam pulls back to tip his head at an elderly tribal woman who smiles back at him with missing teeth. Liam laughs under his breath, shaking his head fondly before he focuses his attention back on Zayn, "You've been a mess all morning since I found Harry in our tent. What did he do now?"

"Nothing," Zayn says, partly because it's true. Harry never does anything but it always seems like people are exceedingly harsh on the boy. In fact, he's almost sure Harry is probably a few years younger than him. "Just worried about the battle is all."

"The battle?" Liam places a light kiss on the skin behind his ear, "Zayn there's not going to be a battle, it'll just be a quick confrontation with some of the slaves - my men aren't going to be fighting. In fact, the plan is, at the moment, for me to take up a few scouts tomorrow night and do the convincing - the fewer of us, the better. There will be as little bloodshed as possible."

" _No_ \- " Zayn feels sick, "Can't you just send the men up? Why do you have to go with them?"

Liam pulls around to stand in front of him. His eyebrows are furrowed adorably and Zayn can't imagine what it'd be like to lose him. "Zayn," Liam says slowly, as if he's speaking to a child, "That's not how things are done in this tribe." There's a long beat of silence. Then, "Is there something that brought this on?"

Zayn hesitates, trying to come up with something more solid than simply old stories and his own feelings of dread. "Khals die young," he says, finally, "I'd rather that not happen."

"Zayn," there's an edge of frustration to Liam's voice, "I've spent almost six weeks perfecting every detail of this operation, nothing is going to go wrong, I assure you."

"Nothing is going to go wrong?" Zayn can't keep the sardonic twist out of his words. He struggles to keep his voice in check, especially with the public area, the ears of the surrounding tribe on their argument, "How often does nothing go wrong, Liam?"

"Usually there are no faults," Liam argues back hotly. He's clearly furstrated. "Careful planning, when executed correctly, doesn't leave room for error. This isn't a legend where things are done heroically at the nick of time and somehow still work out - war is far more tactical than you would believe."

Zayn shakes his head, turning his eyes away. He doesn't have anything much to argue over, "Just. Don't go. You don't have to go, Liam, please."

"I do have to go," Liam tells him quietly, "and you know it."

"Let me come with you," he pleads finally, and he knows it's not a solution, not a solution in any sense of the world. Zayn can barely hold a sword correctly.

Liam's face hardens instantly, " _No_ ," he looks up, like he's calling upon the patience of the Gods, "What the fuck, Zayn, _no._ Have you lost you mind?"

"I can't let you go alone," Zayn whispers, heart thudding. "You're not listening to me. This is a bad idea, Liam - I already know it. I've been sick with -"

"You're ill?" Liam looks surprised, concern twisting over his features. "Again?"

"No, _fuck,_ " Zayn growls, "I'm not fucking ill. I need you to listen to me. Do not go through with this, Li."

Liam sighs, shoulders slumping. He reaches out to cup Zayn's cheek softly, "I promised you an army," he says, hushed, "I need to -"

"Fuck that," Zayn tells him, the ferocity in his voice surprising even himself, "Fuck that entirely, just stay here. I have a terrible feeling about this - something's off. You made these plans with _Cowell_ for fucks sake and if that doesn't tell you - "

"Enough," Liam says quietly, but his voice is firm. He turns away from Zayn, "I don't want to hear any more of this. I have preparations to make."

Zayn watches him leave, the worry settling heavy in his stomach like a stone.

______

"Zayn?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Zayn mutters in reply. He's eagle spread on the divan on the night of an important battle, refusing to meet Liam at the gates to see him off like he requested because he's that much of a child. The sick feeling in his stomach hasn't lifted even a little over the last thirty-six hours, feels even worse the closer the departing hour comes.

"Zayn, _please_."

He sits up at the desperate plea in Harry's voice. "What -"

Harry enters the sleeping area without permission, something he's never done before. His pale skin looks worse than ever, clothes drenched in sweat to the point where they look visibly uncomfortable. He's shaking, tripping over his own feet to get to Zayn, "You have to stop Liam, Zayn. Like right fucking _now."_

Zayn scrambles to pull himself off of the bed, leg getting caught in the furs, "What the hell? Harry," he reaches forward to grab his shoulders. They tremble alarmingly under his hands, "Harry," he waits for recognition, but he doesn't get anything, "Harry what's happening?"

"It's a trap," Harry tells him and his voice is icy, determined in a way Zayn doesn't understand, "Zayn, it's a _trap_. Liam's been set up - you have to stop him."

Zayn shakes him, harder than is probably necessary, "What's happening?"

But Harry shakes his head, hauling him by his tunic to the end of the tent, "No time to explain - just stop Liam and his men." He looks pained, "I'll tell you everything as soon as you return, I promise - just go _stop_ him."

And Zayn's _gone_ , scrambling his fear-riddled body out of the tent as fast as he can. The tribe parts for him as he runs, bare feet and all. He can see the odd, incredulous looks he gets as he makes his way to the gate, slipping between the horse stables and border guards. " _Liam_? You here?" He scans the vastness of the forest ahead, no movement catching his eyes other than a squirrel scampering up a tree to his left. He's breathing hard, almost sobbing at this point, cursing himself inexplicably. " _Liam_!"

The sob tears out of him before he can control it. He walks a few paces forward, ignoring the warnings of the guards to step back, eyes roving every inch of the foliage. The earth is quiet, undisturbed in the worst way.

They're long gone, Zayn realizes, his stomach sinking. Liam always takes care of him, promises to keep him safe, and Zayn can't even return the favor. There's no wonder Liam's tribe don't respect or trust him - Liam gives him far too much credit.

"Zayn?" The voice is familiar, warm in the best way, and comes from behind him.

White, hot relief crashes through him, so sudden, that when he spins around, he nearly falls face first into the earth. Liam and a group of about thirty men stand in front of him, armed and already mounted on their horses. "Fuck," he breathes, "Fuck I thought you'd left."

Liam smiles at him, but the action is hesitant. Zayn can feel the way his eyes are taking in his appearance, concern forming in the corners of gaze, "No. We're just getting ready to. Is something wrong?"

"Liam," Zayn says again, because he's trying to keep his attention, keep his presence, knows Liam won't leave as long as he needs something, " _Fuck_."

Liam looks alarmed now, kicks his horse forward to stop next to Zayn, dismounting to place a reassuring arm around Zayn's shoulders. His men follow his lead, and although they remain a respectful few feet away, they're clearly within earshot. "Zayn, hey," Liam shushes him, "where're your shoes, love, you'll cut yourself."

Zayn shoves him off, "Call off the mission," he pleads. Zayn's worn, tired from having this conversation, tired of being ignored, but he knows he'll never forgive himself if something goes wrong, "You've been compromised, this is completely set up. You're walking into a trap," he tries to keep his composure, his rationality.

There's a moment of silence after his outburst. Then -

Liam's face grows hot at the huffs of laughter coming from behind him. "Zayn," he whispers, voice carefully controlled, "we talked about this and I'd appreciate it if you didn't embarrass me in front of my men."

"Liam," he tries frustrated, "You're not listening, Harry came into my tent. He - "

Liam shakes his head, turning away as the laughter grows in sound behind him. He remounts his horse, taking the reigns, "Go back inside Zayn, you have a tribe to care for."

"You're not _listening_ to me," Zayn tries again, "You never fucking listen - is it because I have no experience in battle or council? Does my opinion mean that little to you? I'm trying to protect you, _fuck -_ "

"So am I, Zayn," Liam gives him a hard look, "And I'd appreciate it if you stepped aside and let me do what I promised your queen when we made our deal. I don't need any more enemies."

Zayn grips his tunic, looks up at the man that he thinks he's in love with, "I'm trying to help," he says quietly, "Please, just listen to me."

"Our Khal doesn't take order from foreigners," it's a man from the party, voice rising defensively over the crowd, "Isn't that right, sire?"

Zayn keeps his eyes on Liam until Liam turns away from his gaze, biting his lip in shame. "Fine," he whispers at last, eyes stinging.

He lets his hand fall away

______

"Explain," Zayn breathes. He's crying, can tell from the way his cheeks feel hot and wet, nose clogging up in the worst way. It's a faraway sensation though, he's more focused on the way Harry's sitting on the divan, head hanging in shame and hands trembling where they thread through the furs. "Right now," he shudders, "Or so help me I'll have you strung up on a fucking spike."

It's late, the whole tribe having retired for the night. Zayn had returned, stone-faced, and sent Harry away to finish his duties with Cowell and had instructed him to return unnoticed after the Advisor had fallen asleep. If Zayn's right about what he thinks, Simon's really not supposed to know that Harry is spilling these secrets.

"I'm sorry," Harry begins, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I couldn't work up the nerve and I was too afraid to confront Liam -"

Zayn laughs, it's an ugly sound, twisted and cruel, "Too late for that now, though, isn't it?" He crosses his arms to keep out the chilled night air, "Besides, he wouldn't have listened anyway."

There's a long moment of pained silence, the only sounds in the tent are Zayn's quiet whimpers. They're being torn from his body and he can't keep them locked no matter how hard he tries.

" _Talk_ Harry," he snaps.

Harry reaches out to take his hand, pulling him down on the divan so they're sitting side by side, shoulders pressed against each other, "My family are brick kiln workers from Karth," he begins softly, "We get wages, yes, but very low ones and we have to fill a quota of a thousand bricks a day or we'll lose what little we have. We cannot leave, those attempting to remove their family from the work are dragged back and beaten raw. The lawmakers turn a blind eye because it churns out such a large profit."

"The point," Zayn says quietly, "Get to the _point._ " But he reaches out to squeeze Harry's shoulder in comfort anyway, because try as he might, Harry means a lot.

"I'm getting there," Harry promises him, "This is relevant, I promise. Anyway, one day my father's heart gave out while working. I was nine at the time, the only child to my mother - we had no source of income for a while, and the Kiln overseers wanted us to pay them back for the profit they'd lost when my father died halfway through his shift. My mother used to sell vegetables she'd steal at the local market and she gave the Kiln everything she had saved to pay back the debt. But it wasn't enough, something about interest they said - and it'd keep building the longer we didn't have the money. We would never be out of their debt, not even with my mother joining the Kiln voluntarily. So, she sold me to the pleasure houses a year later. At least there I'd be clothed and well fed."

Zayn traces the floor of the tent, his tears finally starting to dry. "How old were you?"

"Eleven," Harry whispers back quietly, but he laughs, "Don't worry, I didn't touch anyone until nearly four years later. They kept me that long, fed me, housed me, educated me. Anyway, I had just turned seventeen when the tribe came to visit for the first time since Liam had become Khal - the Dorthraki have always been a large part of our business and we were instructed to be on our best behavior. The Khal had a new advisor at the time - "

"Cowell," Zayn breaks in, heart beating quickly.

Harry smiles dryly. "Cowell," he confirms, "He had no interest in me the way I assumed, but rather fascinated with the fact that I could beat him at chess."

"No," Zayn can't keep the word back, because it's dawning on him, "Please don't tell me Cowell is - "

Harry shrugs, but his eyes are so sad it makes Zayn ache in the worst way, "Cowell bought me for a very generous sum, offered me an apprenticeship under him in Liam's tribe - told me I'd be able to work myself to my freedom. Naturally, I jumped at the chance." Harry pulls his legs up, curling his arms around his knees, making his body very small, "Turned out he was a spy - Cowell is Ben Winston's scout."

Zayn feels the breath catch in his throat, "He's here to kill me isn't he?"

Harry shrugs, "He always figured you'd choose Liam - too much lore, too much history or something. An offer you couldn't resist. He'd known it the minute Liam had made it clear he wanted a male partner. All he needed was someone to do his dirty work - mix poisons into wine, pay off slaves with gold - that sort of thing. And as a slave, I was bound - besides, it's not as though anyone would ever take me seriously." Harry sounds impossibly sad as he finishes.

Zayn presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, squeezing them shut under the pressure.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispers miserably, "For what it's worth, I'm just _so_ sorry. You don't understand how sorry. I never wished to harm you or Liam."

Zayn stays silent still, letting the words play on loop. He leans his head tiredly on Harry's shoulder and closes his eyes. "Why now?" he asks at last, "Why not when you made me the antidote for the poison you fed me? Why not any of the weeks before?"

"Because Karth is looking for the dragon eggs," Harry's tone is bluntly honest, like he has nothing else to hide, "It's why I pushed Liam into giving them to you as a gift - Simon wanted them for the longest time and that couldn't happen. Told Liam you'd appreciate the gesture, that it'd show he cared about your family history or something."

"They're pretty stones," Zayn says, but he can hear the way he himself doubts the words he speaks.

Harry laughs, shooting Zayn an incredulous look, "You really believe that? Even now?"

"That's why they ransacked Jahakar isn't it," Zayn startles, and it's all slotting into place now, picture clear and bold, "We were supposed to be in Jahakar when it happened but we were running late, Simon must have been tipped off Karth's king, but he was off by a few weeks. They were looking for me."

"Cowell realized his error quickly," Harry agrees, "but there was nothing he could do about it, not under Liam's watchful eyes. The only reason he even had a chance to in the first place was because he spent a night in Horan Kingdom - I was firmly instructed to keep Liam out of the castle for the duration, no matter how much he wished to speak with you."

That last sentence hits low, hits something deep in Zayn, but he forces himself to move forward and not dwell. "But why Karth?" he asks instead, "I thought the Winston's were the ones who were after me."

"They are," Harry tells him. He's looking at Zayn as if he can't believe Zayn hasn't connected the pieces yet, "But Bradfordshire is Karth's main trading partner, their main source of income. Whoever sits on the throne of Bradfordshire rules all of these lands remember? And the first city they will get is Karth. A puppet king sits on the throne, you know - it may as well be Ben himself."

A horrible thought occurs to Zayn, "And Liam is -"

"Right in the middle of it."

______

The screaming is what wakes Zayn. It's high-pitched, tinged with agony, and has him scrambling to get out of the tent as fast as he can. He contemplates bringing a weapon, but quits the idea as immediately as it comes to him, knowing he'd more than likely have very few uses for it no matter the situation. Sending Harry away last night though does seem like a foolish decision now, though at the time he was just making sure Cowell stayed as oblivious as possible.

That's what had frustrated him the most last night - the helplessness. How little he could do without Liam by his side, as the rest of the tribe only seemed to follow him. He'd had to go to bed, tossing fitfully until an unsettling sleep swept over him from pure emotional exhaustion. He hadn't been able to do a damned thing about Cowell or Liam.

He rips the cloth of the tent so hard in his effort to get out that one side tears, sending him reeling outdoors into the darkness. And -

That's the first thing he sees once his eyes adjust to the thick darkness of the barely there dawn - men and women scurrying about, collecting wood for what Zayn assumes are funeral pyres. Most of them are either stone-faced or already crying, some hysterically bent over the body of a loved one. Zayn feels sick as he sidesteps them, ignoring the way their eyes follow his movements with unreadable expressions as he searches in a breathless moment of panic.

Not many men had accompanied Liam, he'd chosen to keep the party small on purpose to keep their stealth. Logically, it's not a huge loss to the tribe power-wise, but moral seems to be decimated. Zayn stops in the middle of a clearing in the crowd, turning in a full circle before he sees him.

And he's _okay_. Zayn can make out that much - Liam is most definitely hurt, pressing a bloodied cloth tightly to his forearm as he surveys the mess around him. His face is drawn with sadness, a firmness around his eyes that promises vengeance. He's standing though and for a moment that's all that matters to Zayn.

"Many of my best men are dead," Liam tells him as he approaches. Zayn stays silent, watching the way Liam keeps his eyes trained away from his face, "The people let us enter, they herded us into a large underground hallway for negotiations before they open fired. I took thirty men," Liam's voice cracks, "Six are here now."

Zayn closes his eyes, the chaos of the past few days, of his surroundings, pressing deep into his chest. He lays a hand on Liam's shoulder, "Come," he says softly, "I'll have Harry draw you a warm bath, we'll talk then."

"My men," Liam breaks. His shoulders shake under Zayn's hand, "I have to build them -"

"I don't think the others want to see you right now," Zayn cuts him off firmly, pushing him through the crowds as quickly as he can, "You led their husbands and sons to slaughter - come inside and let me look at the cut on your arm."

"It's not deep," Liam protests weakly, but he doesn't slow, almost slumps back into Zayn's arms as they enter the tent.

Zayn spares him a tired look before he goes about wetting a clean rag, wringing it outside to remove the excess water. When he returns, Liam's sitting on the divan and his face is more solemn than Zayn has ever previously seen. There's blood on his riding gear, the leather letting it smear whenever he so much as shifts his arm.

"Be still," Zayn orders, working the rag over his arm despite the way Liam flinches. The cut is quite shallow, but it's long, stretching from just below Liam's shoulder down to the inside of his elbow - it's as if someone had scraped him with a spear or sword. Zayn aptly keeps his eyes away from Liam's face, working the cloth over his arm and gear until the blood is gone, leaving just the angry red mark behind. The skin is split wide; it'll definitely scar, Zayn thinks with a twisted sense of satisfaction - a reminder of sorts for Liam.

He turns, tossing the cloth to the side for someone to pick up because God knows he needs to throw something at the moment. "Wait here," he says lowly, "I'll get the bath running."

Liam watches him take a step back before he reaches out, eyes wide as he grips his wrist, "Please," he says. There's shame there, desperation, "please stay with me a minute."

Zayn lets out a long rush of air, "I'll stay with you once I've told Harry to run a bath."

"I just want to talk," Liam continues, wincing, "I just want to be near you."

Zayn clenches his fists, can feel the way his expression hardens to the point where Liam lets his wrist drop, "I'll speak with you once you're not covered in your own bloodshed."

The last thing he sees as he exists the tent is the way Liam lowers his head, resting his forehead on his knees as his body rises and falls in uneven breaths.

______

Harry touches his shoulder briefly as he leaves, having drawn the bath straight in the tent at Zayn's request. "Cowell's gone," he whispers in Zayns ear, "He was here last night when I went to bed and it's barely dawn now - he must've disappeared sometime in-between." He draws back, looking at Zayn with solemn eyes, "If you wish for me to - "

"No," Zayn tells him harshly, rubbing his forehead pathetically. He feels like he hasn't slept properly in days, which is probably true, "I will not be getting rid of you. Go back to your tent, get some sleep - make sure the pyres are burning correctly. Just," Zayn shakes his head, "I need to speak with Liam privately. Just go for now."

Harry bows low as he leaves, something he hasn't done in a few months as they've gotten closer and closer. It strikes at something in Zayn, but he swallows back the brief flash of hurt, nodding in return as he makes his way back to the bath.

Liam's nearly submerged himself in the water, shuddering despite the fact that there's steam rising from the filled tub. He stills when Zayn enters, draws his knees up to his chest and curls around them until he looks small enough to be seventeen again.

Zayn sits cross-legged on the divan, regarding him carefully. "What am I to you?" he asks finally. He'd meant to continue, but suddenly wants to hear Liam's answer more than anything in the world.

"I don't understand," Liam whispers back. The sun hasn't come up yet, the only light in the tent from the oil lamp in the front and the few candles Harry had lit, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Zayn says, "What am I to you? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No," Liam replies. He sound aghast, "Of course not, Zayn. I'd never be ashamed of you."

Zayn laughs hollowly, "But you're ashamed of taking orders from me aren't you? Ashamed to let the tribe see that even their Khal needs advice sometimes?"

"I have advisors," Liam counters, but the argument probably sounds weak to his own ears if the way his shoulders curl is any indication, "I take their advice all the - "

Zayn stands. "But not mine," he sneers, "Because that'd make you seem weak, wouldn't it? Because what I am other than a means to an end?"

"Fuck you," Liam's eyes narrow, "If anyone's a means to an end then it'd be me - you married me for my army."

Zayn rolls his eyes, "And I'm sure you married me because you fell helplessly in love the first time you saw me. Had nothing to do with the fact that one day you could potentially control the Seven Kingdoms."

"I don't want the throne, Zayn," Liam's voice is rising, defensive, "I don't want your fucking throne - I've told you before. I can't believe you still think that of me."

"Not the throne," Zayn says, "But powerful allies? Fuck yeah, Liam you want those. Don't tell me you agreed to the match because you actually thought I was some old dragon legend," And that's a whole other topic, one that Zayn's going to guard within himself until he's absolutely sure. There's no way he can stand any more mockery thrown his way. "Because when you conquer your cities - who do the people look to Liam? Me or you?"

"I don't care about that," Liam protests, "You're not making any sense."

"Me?" Zayn sits down carefully because if he doesn't he's actually afraid he might fling something at Liam's head, " _I'm_ not making sense, Liam?" His voice is low, dangerous, "You went out and got your best men killed because you didn't listen to me and now I'm the one not making any fucking sense?"

"I'm sorry," Liam confesses instantly, "I'm sorry I didn't listen. I just - I need to be. Being a Khal is very different to being a King, Zayn and I don't think you've quite understood that."

"I haven't?" Zayn raises an eyebrow, watches the way Liam falls silent, "Think I don't know that the Dorthraki have no obligation to you? They follow you because you're strong - any weakness and you wouldn't be a Khal anymore. There are no lineages here, no titles to fall back on."

Liam looks away from him.

"Do I make you weak, Liam?" Zayn asks at last, "Do you think that me being here makes you less of a leader?"

There's an extended stillness in the air.

"They seem to think so," Liam says at last, "I don't believe it."

Zayn reaches forward to place a hand on Liam's knee, wet from the bathwater that's slowly chilling from the cold air, "You _do_ believe it," Zayn protests quietly, "Otherwise you wouldn't have been so quick to turn me away."

Liam makes a frustrated noise, threading his fingers through Zayn's, " _No_. No I really do not. I'm just not very good at taking a stance when my men are against it." He sighs, "I guess you could say that I'm not a very good Khal."

"You are," Zayn tells him instantly, almost offended, "You're a brilliant Khal and an incredible leader - you just don't see it as well as you should."

Liam sighs, "I'll be glad when you're king, yeah. You were made for it."

"Made for it," Zayn raises an eyebrow, "All I've had is theory lessons - never ruled anything Liam. And you take care of nearly fifty thousand people every day."

"But you're," Liam gestures at him wildly, "you have this way with people, with words - you have this aura, this sense of power. Like you were born to be king, Zayn."

Zayn rolls his eyes, not wanting to push the conversation any further because a strange fondness is rising for Liam. And he's supposed to be angry with him. He reaches forward to test the temperature of the bath water, finding it on the cooler side of lukewarm, "Right then, Liam, time to get out, yeah. 's cold, babe."

"Will you explain it to me?" Liam asks him quietly, letting his legs stretch out into the tub. Zayn swallows at the sight, ignoring the way his stomach clenches. He keeps his gaze resolutely on Liam's face, "What really happened, I mean. I'll listen."

Zayn sighs, reaching for the large cloth Harry had left at the foot of the tub, holding it out to Liam, "Later okay. I need to go check on something."

Liam takes the cloth from him silently, "Are you upset with me?"

"Yes," Zayn tells him instantly, laughing at the absurdness of it all, "I am definitely upset with you, but I want you to rest right now so I can explain what's happened. You're going to need your wits about you and right now you're half in shock." He turns to leave, giving Liam privacy to get out of the tub and dress himself. More than anything he has an itch to check on the eggs, make sure that they're safe even if Simon had disappeared. Though he has a feeling Cowell vanished simply because Liam had come back alive and that had never been the plan. Liam's death would plunge the tribe into chaos and Zayn has no idea where an event like that would leave him. Doesn't like to really think about it.

"Zayn," Liam's voice is bashful.

"What?"

"Can you stay?"

Zayn turns carefully and even breathing seems like too loud a sound in the warm tent. He clears his throat, "Stay?"

Liam averts his eyes, twisting the cloth in his hands, "If you don't mind, I want to be near you."

And Zayn has that much self-control, he really does, but more than that he's not afraid anymore. The realization seems momentous somehow. He lets the fabric of the tent fall closed as he makes his way back to the divan, "No yeah," he nods, "I'll stay."

Liam's face is an endearing shade of pink, "I'm gonna get out of the water."

"It's cold," Zayn tells him wisely, "You probably should." He bites down on the grin threatening to overtake his face, "I mean, it's already fairly transparent."

Liam flushes red, "You're ogling me," he accuses, "I take back what I meant about you being King."

Zayn shrugs, "You're my husband and I'm gonna look. 'sides you never said I couldn't."

"Don't think that's how it works," Liam scowls, but there's no heat in the playful downturn of his mouth. His expression softens, "But I don't mind you looking. It's - nice. I'm glad you like me."

Zayn cocks his head, lets his eyes run over Liam's golden skin, the way the thick ropes of muscle circle around his arms, the smattering of light hair that thickens at his navel. The way his thighs are tight from years of riding and - "'Course," Zayn shakes his head, ears hot, "Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Dunno," Liam shrugs, but he looks away, busying his hands with wiping down his arms, before he stands quickly, almost tripping in the effort to wrap the cloth around his waist as fast as he possibly could.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, "I could've left you know?"

Liam shakes his head and he's smiling softly at him, "Don't want you to leave." His eyes get sort of pained for a second, "I didn't think I'd make it out of there alive - didn't think I'd ever get to see you again. All I could think about was the way, yeah. I know I should've said something, it was just kind of hard because of - well, you know, because - "

Zayn shushes him, drawing him near until he's standing between Zayn's knees, Liam's skin is wet and warm, ribs expanding with every breath he takes under Zayn's hands, "You don't wanna let anyone down, I get that babe, I do. But something's gotta change here, I can't - "

"It will," Liam tells him hastily, damp fingers thumbing along Zayn's ears, "Just give me time, let me figure it out - "

"Yeah," Zayn reaches up to cover his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Liam's knuckles, "Yeah, Liam, but never again."

There's a breathless moment of silence. Liam pulls back, though a tad bit reluctantly, "I should go get - "

"No," Zayn tells him, heart hammering, "C'mere. Just. _Liam."_

And Liam steps back as though Zayn's burned him. For a moment Zayn feels a crushing rejection, but Liam's speaking quickly, voice rough, "No, Zayn - everyone's going to be up soon and it's. I won't have it be rushed okay. Not a chance in hell it's going to be anything other than extraordinarily good when," he shakes his head, "Just wait, love, okay."

"Okay," Zayn tells him, "Sorry. I dunno it just seemed like. Something I wanted?"

"Yeah," Liam laughs. He reaches for a tunic at the bottom of a chest, pulling it over his head. He waits till his head pops out, "Definitely know what you mean."

Zayn pinks, looking away, which is odd considering what he'd wanted to do to Liam just moments back. He swallows, "Sort of new for me. Maura never used to let me take people up to my rooms, said it was too dangerous - we could never be too careful. Not that I really wanted to, sex sort of scared me, not going to lie."

"Scared you?" Liam takes a seat beside him, crossing his legs on the divan so he's sitting facing Zayn. "What do you mean?"

Zayn kicks at the floor, shrugging, "Being that close to a person. Intimacy. What it would feel like. I never really wanted that with someone, at least not before you. Marriage was always going to be a political move for me, and Maura once told me that I would just have to see my husband on special occasions if I didn't like him. I guess I just didn't understand why I'd want to - to reveal myself in that way to someone who felt nothing for me, yeah."

He turns, catches the way Liam's eyes are trained on him, round and dark and cautious, "I understand," Liam says slowly, but it sounds like he doesn't really.

"No," Zayn laughs. He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers, "It was stupid - people have been doing it for centuries and like. Many of the men I knew used to visit brothels or have many partners - many of the women as well. And I don't think there's anything wrong with it, I really don't, but like. It's not for me? Dunno. I guess I just don't want it to be a tool, a means to an end."

Liam leans forward, resting his forehead against Zayn's shoulder, "Whatever you like, Zayn," he says honestly, "There's no shame in feeling any way because there's no right and wrong. Whatever you like, we'll do - and whether that's tonight or a year from now or never."

Zayn laughs, pressing his cheek against Liam's head. The angle is uncomfortable, but Liam's hair is soft, damp, and sweet smelling against his skin, "Never?"

"I mean," Liam's voice is soft, "I would hope not never. But I don't - I'd rather never than you be forced, yeah. When I saw you on those stairs at first, how unhappy you were, how angry - if I hadn't already promised I'd probably have called off the whole thing. I knew you didn't want me, but actually seeing it was a bit much when I had all these foolish notions of being with someone who was happy to be with me."

"That's not foolish," Zayn admonishes fiercely, "I think many people wish for the same - there are far worse whims of men than happiness."

Liam's silent for a bit, "I'm glad I got to talk to you about this," he whispers at last, "I didn't even know how to breach the subject with you, didn't want to scare you."

"You don't scare me, Liam," Zayn grins up into the waning darkness, "At least not anymore."

He can feel the way Liam's eyes bore into the side of his face, his chin digging into Zayn's shoulder. "Good grief," Liam mutters, "I've created a monster."

______

Zayn's kneeling over the armor chest in the back of his and Liam's wagon when Harry comes to find him. It's a cold afternoon, winter winds blowing in and setting everyone on edge. They're in the middle of a conquest and the weather is slowly but surely turning bad. Apparently the winter months force even the Dorthraki to settle, usually into underground structures from which they emerge only to hunt or socialize. Horses are stored, weaponry put away - winter is a holy season. The time when nature tells them to rest and yet, here they are.

"They've found another way into the city," Harry tells him, breathless, "It seems as though Cowell never followed through with his payments to the slaves and they're angry, very angry - and sorry too. They're willing to submit to Liam entirely as long as Liam helps them find Simon."

Harry shakes his shoulder, radiating glee, "Can you imagine, man," he breathes, "Two hundred thousand people under our control - and at least fifty thousand of which are highly trained warriors. Two thousand sailors. This is the best news we've heard for months."

Zayn nods, arms full. The words are distant in this haze of confusion he's in, but he knows he should be happy, ecstatic even. He has a more concrete way of getting home than ever before.

"Zayn?"

Zayn turns slowly, arms full with a familiar burlap sack, "Yeah Harry?"

"What's wrong?"

Zayn stays silent, pulling open the sack. Lying there are the three eggs as usual, bright in their magnificence and beauty, each sporting one long, horizontal crack through their centers.

______

Harry catches him at lunch, pulls him away from the crowd and buzz. The promise of a large addition to the tribe seems to have everyone buzzing and Zayn likes that - how the Dorthraki slowly adopt people as their own - the people of Jahakar a prime example.

He's just not sure how to be one of them.

"You have to tell Liam."

Zayn shakes his head, "No," he mutters, "He - _no_."

Harry shakes him, "Why the fuck not?"

"He has enough on his mind," Zayn hesitates, stomping down on the urge to run back and check on the eggs every twenty minutes. He'd drug them out of the chest, left them placed delicately over some fine china Liam and him had received as a wedding gift but never used, "Besides," Zayn says firmly, "I'm not sure what this means - if it means anything at all."

Harry looks dumbstruck. "What it means?" he sputters, "Zayn you're hatching dragons - three if my advanced calculations are correct. When're you gonna tell him? After they hatch?"

"Nobody has seen a dragon in hundreds of years," Zayn reminds him, "Hell, we don't even know if they even existed. It's the stuff of legends, myths. Blame me for being a tad skeptical."

"Zayn," Harry tells him, clearly frustrated, "You're a Malik - the _last_ one. How are you not seeing this?"

Zayn shrugs, "I want to be sure." He narrows his eyes, "That means you can't tell him either."

Harry blinks at him, "I hope this isn't what it's like when you guys choose to have kids."

"We're not women," Zayn smirks, "We don't give birth. No one will be hiding pregnancies."

"No," Harry shakes his head, eyes light with mischief, "When you have children, it'll have to be through you - they need your blood. You have to revive your house from the ashes or whatever but we'll get to that later. Either way you'll probably cook something up on the side, biding your time before you spring it on Liam. And, even more fucked up, he'll be fine with because _oh Harry, it makes Zayn so happy._ "

"Fuck you," Zayn flushes, "he doesn't sound like that." Harry's words are far in the future. Zayn has more pressing matters to deal with. Besides he's sure neither of them will want children until his reign in Bradfordshire is secured - and that could take years.

"I tell it how it is," Harry shrugs. He gives Zayn a hard look, "And you need to as well. Didn't you guys just have a heart to heart last night? Something about no secrets in true love."

"No secrets," Zayn agrees, "Unless involving dragons that I'm not fully sure exist yet."

Harry throws up his hands, stalking back towards the tribe. His strides are marked with defeat, Zayn notes as he follows smugly, making sure to keep a fair distance between the two of them.

______

Of course by evening, Zayn has a new problem on his hands - because that's clearly what his life has become - a seemingly endless swirl of chaos within which he simply attempts to make sense of the world.

Liam knows.

He knows the full story of everything, how Harry had tipped the slaves off at Karth, how he'd slipped the poison into the wine (and later, slipped the antidote into the ears of one of the healers), how he'd convinced Liam to ride away from the palace so Simon could communicate their date of arrival in Jahakar. The knowing is not the problem; the problem is that now Liam wants to put Harry on trial.

Zayn rolls his eyes at the way Liam's scowling at him, "Liam," he warns, "We're not doing this." They're making a scene is what they're doing right now. Dorthraki guards storming through evening recreation to put Harry in their custody had left Zayn reeling. He'd had no choice but to push Harry behind him, knowing that the guards, no matter how unwilling, technically were under his authority as well.

"He nearly killed you," Liam argues. His demeanor is calm, but Zayn can see the way his eyes are lit up with anger.

Harry tugs on his tunic from behind, "He's kind of right," he admits, "Maybe you should - "

"Shut up," Zayn snaps. He turns to face the guards, the way the people are staring at him, the way some of them seem amused. He straightens, "It's not happening. He saved my life."

"Because he poisoned you," Liam counters. He's scowling deeply, pacing back and forth in front of the main cooking fire. "That's sort of counter-productive isn't it? Besides, he even admitted his guilt."

"Harry is one of your oldest friends," Zayn says roughly, "You're not going to try him for murder, I won't allow it."

"He's under _my_ charge now. I appointed him to you," Liam narrows his eyes. "His old charge seems to have mysteriously disappeared. How do we know - "

Zayn takes a step forward threateningly, a hand still clenched tightly around Harry's wrist. He really does hate making a scene, "We don't. We don't know anything beyond what he's telling us, but if he really wanted us dead, Liam, all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. And he didn't, he risked being caught to warn me that night. That remains valid despite you not listening."

Murmurs rock through the crowd and Zayn can see the way Liam curls in on himself at the public humiliation. It's only the reminder of Harry behind him that keeps Zayn from taking the words back in guilt.

Liam steps closer, bending down so his words seem more private, "He poisoned you."

"You know," Harry says from behind Zayn, "I can hear you."

Zayn rolls his eyes, "And then he saved my life."

"We're putting him on trial," Liam says, and his voice is firm, "That doesn't mean he'll be guilty but it'll give us a fair chance to -"

"I pardon him," Zayn says loudly, loud enough for the tribe around him to hear, "I give him a royal, King's pardon."

Liam stumbles back in mild shock. He looks resigned now, however so Zayn takes it as a win. "I guess I can't argue with that. But you realize King's Pardon is on the guarantee of your head. Zayn, I can't - "

"I want to," Zayn assures him. He squeezes Harry's wrist, feels the way the tension drains out of the boy behind him, the way his limbs go lax in Zayn's grip.

"Thank you," Harry whispers from behind him. His voice is thick, "I owe you everything - including my freedom. I don't know how to repay you."

Zayn turns on him then, because while Zayn is merciful and soft as Liam would say, he's no fool, "You repay me by never going near any type of military planning or scouting. As long as you are a part of this tribe, you will never rise to the position of Advisor or General; you will always remain my Hand."

Harry doesn't fight, doesn't get defensive. He barely has a reaction other than a large smile that almost hurts to look at. Zayn fights the urge to grin back at him. Then, Harry bows, though there's ease there to his motions that Zayn has missed dearly. "I'd be honored."

______

"I'll admit it, you handled him well," Liam tells him later that day. Dinner's being cleared outside, Zayn can hear the sounds of the tribe working. "I'm very impressed."

Zayn stretches out on the divan, straightening his arms as far as they go. He yawns, "Glad I could make the great Khal of the Dorthraki happy."

Liam swats at him, laughing, "Shut up," he says, "You know what I mean."

"Do I Liam?" Zayn raises his eyebrows, "Personally I think I need a little more explaining - you may continue showering me with praise."

Liam shoves him aside, crawling into the space he'd made Zayn vacate, ignoring the way Zayn grumbles at being pushed, "Alright," Liam's voice is very serious, "Where should I begin?"

"Tell me how smart I am," Zayn demands, "Tell me how good a King I'll be."

Liam smothers his smile into Zayn's bare shoulder, pressing a kiss the warm, bare skin, "You'll be a brilliant king," he tells him, "So good that everyone will fall in love with you at first sight. People will beg to serve you."

Zayn snickers, "There's a thought," he muses, "People begging to _serve_ me while you stand there moodily and warn them off."

Liam smacks his leg, holding him still when Zayn yelps and tries to pull away, "I would though," Liam insists, "Because you're mine. My husband, yeah, no one else can have you."

Zayn shrugs, letting his eyes slip shut, "Don't want anyone else, no need to worry."

There's a moment of silence. Zayn can feel the way Liam's breathing against him, soft and steady, a pillar of promise and strength beside him. The safety is overwhelming, and he swears this is all he could possibly ever want. Not much else seems to be very important.

Then - "You're so beautiful," Liam tells him honestly. There's a tinge of embarrassment coloring his words, but he sounds determined even if his voice is soft. Zayn opens his eyes, tries to turn to face him, but Liam holds him fast, "Like so, so incredibly lovely. Made it hard to look at you and string words together in the beginning. And you're kind and loyal and open-hearted and smart - "

"Alright," Zayn's face is burning. He feels warm all over, "We can stop there, thanks babe."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend," Liam says quietly, "Or push something on you that you don't feel. I just wanted you to know."

Zayn turns then, Liam's grip loosening easily as he rotates to look upon Liam's face. He's flushed, biting his lip bashfully, and Zayn feels his heart actually quiver for a split second. "No," Zayn tells him fiercely, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just a little embarrassed, but I'm really glad you feel those things for me. Relieved even."

"Relieved," Liam echoes dumbly.

" 'Course," Zayn assures him, cupping his cheek, "Relieved not to be the only one here, yeah." He sucks in a sharp, quick breath, hoping it gives him the courage that he needs in his moment, "Love you very much, Liam."

"Oh," Liam's smiling, cheeks pushing his eyes up into little half-moons of happiness, "You too, I love you too. Though you probably already know that, especially with how bloody obvious I know I've been lately."

Zayn laughs, ducking his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, can scarcely believe this is somehow his life now. Can't remember the exact moment when Liam had made a home for himself in Zayn's ribs, but there he is now - curled up warm and soft in the crevice of Zayn's heart. It's such a far cry from anything he, or anybody around him, had expected that it's almost absurd.

"Are you alright?" Liam asks gently.

"Yeah," Zayn breathes, "Just thinking, you know." He peeks up, drinking in the way Liam's face is lit up, eyes open. It's incredible because out there, to the Dorthraki, Liam's firm and harsh and strong and in here, he's all soft smiles and endearing words, tender fingers over Zayn's face.

Liam cocks his head, "Can I ask about what?"

"About how much it's changed," Zayn says, "About how wrong I was about you." He punches Liam in the shoulder, grinning smugly at the way he reels back in surprise, "I can't believe you ever scared me."

Liam scowls playfully, mouth turned downwards in an over exaggerated scowl, "Wish I could say the same about you. Bloody terrifying you are."

"Good," Zayn tells him, "Everyone needs a healthy dose of fear every now and then. Reminds them that they're human."

"But that's not fair," Liam whines, "If I'm afraid of you and you're not afraid of me, then how's any of this equal?"

"I am though," Zayn whispers. He lays a hand over Liam's ribs, feels the comforting way they stretch with every breath, "I'm so afraid for you. When you're away, when you're in battle. I'm useless in making sure you're okay."

"Zayn," Liam tells him quietly, "Nothing's going to happen to me, love. I'm going to go into Karth's underground tunnels and literally wait for the city to fall. I won't enter."

"Promise?" Zayn feels childish asking, but if he had it his way, Liam wouldn't step foot out of this tent.

"I promise," Liam sighs, "But Zayn, I'm going get hurt. Maybe not tomorrow in the tunnels, but eventually, I will. We're warriors, we fight, we fall - that's what happens. I don't want you to worry so much every time."

Zayn presses his face into Liam's throat, hating the way his heart jumps at the thought. "Not helping," he grits.

Liam soothes a hand down his back; the hairs on Zayn's skin prickle at his touch. “I promise I won’t do anything reckless because the future is so bright, yeah; things look _so_ good. Especially with you. And I want that so much, you have no idea how much. I can't bear the thought of dying now. So I'll always try, Zayn, I will always try with everything I have to come back."

Zayn kisses the underside of Liam's jaw, "I'll accept that," he concedes, "Definitely can live with that. But I'm going to worry anyway, nothing you say is going to stop me from worrying."

"I guess I can live with that too," Liam murmurs back, "Brilliant compromise, that is. This much be what marriage is all about."

Zayn huffs a breath of laughter into Liam's throat, dragging his body until he's lying almost directly on top of him. He tosses an arm out to curl around Liam's shoulder. At this point, Zayn saying that he's clingy is probably an understatement.

Liam groans, shifting, "You're heavy."

"But I love you," Zayn protests, "Don't separate me from my love, you cold hearted bastard."

"You're going to sleep on the floor if you don't move."

"Make me."

Liam rolls his eyes, sighing as he settles back. "I'm tired," he says pathetically, "Someone kept me up talking all night yesterday. Don't you want me to be well rested for my excursion in Karth tomorrow?"

"Shame," Zayn whispers, grinning, "I had plans."

He stifles laughter at the way Liam tenses below him, the way his heart booms in the silent room. The air's gone still; dinner clean up must be finished then, everyone slowly turning into their own tents for the night.

"You're terrible," Liam tells him, "Stop teasing and let me sleep."

Zayn rolls off him, lying on his side so he can send Liam and a wide grin. He pushes his tongue into his teeth, "Who says I was just teasing? You'll notice I tried to jump you last night, what would make this one different?"

Liam turns to face him, but his demeanor is much more serious, "Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."

"I want you to be sure," Liam continues, "And not just because you're scared I'm going to Karth or something."

"Liam," Zayn huffs, "I want you. And I'd want you even if you weren't going to set off a rebellion tomorrow."

Liam looks like he doesn't know what do with that information, but eventually decides on drawing Zayn near, kissing him softly. It's an interesting way of gauging Zayn's intent without words, and not for the first time in these past few months, Zayn commends himself on his choice of husband.

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Liam tells him, resolutely, "If I make one mistake, you have to tell me right away."

"Wanna be good for me, Liam?" Zayn teases, kissing him again before he can reply.

" _Please_ ," Liam mumbles. He nudges his nose into Zayn's, and fuck he's so goddamned _cute_ , Zayn's going to die before this is over. Or before it begins.

"C'mere," Zayn tells him. He sits up against the pillows, dragging Liam until he's in his lap. Liam comes easily, settling on his shins with his legs folded. He's smiling widely, hands resting on Zayn's shoulders and fuck Zayn feels so safe, so good.

"Hello," Liam tells him, tipping his head ridiculously, "What can I do for you this evening?"

Zayn laughs, pulling him near and kissing him soundly again. For a split second he thinks that he should just do this all night, Liam seems more than eager himself. But, only for a split second.

"No seriously," Liam's out of breath, eyes blown dark, "What _can_ I do for you?"

Zayn shrugs, more caught up in the way Liam's breath stutters every time Zayn's hands get anywhere near Liam's trousers. He sucks in his bottom lip, "You could get rid of our trousers. Might be difficult with 'em on, yeah."

Liam rolls his eyes, leans down to press a kiss against Zayn's clavicle. Then at the center of his chest. Zayn holds his breath when Liam's stubble brushes against his nipple, a sensation far more intense than he'd assumed.

Liam smiles up at him every time Zayn's breath stutters. It's like he knows exactly what he's doing, and he probably does the arrogant asshole that he is. "Good?" he asks, just as his mouth closes around Zayn's left nipple, sucking soft noises out of Zayn's mouth.

"Fuck off," Zayn tells him shakily, watches as Liam slides off him to stand next to the divan, laughing. The loss of his body heat makes Zayn shiver, the places that Liam's kissed feeling more exposed to the cool air than he remembers them feeling before.

Liam hesitates with his fingers hooked into the band of his trousers. "We don't have to," he tells him again, "If you don't want to, I mean. We can just kiss a little more and - "

Zayn rolls his eyes and before he can think about it too much, he's yanking down his own trousers, pulling them off with a certainty and confidence he's sure he actually doesn't possess. The way Liam's mouth opens in imperceptible awe, however, does make him feel good.

"Okay," Liam laughs and this time when he crawls back into the bed, he's naked as well, "No need to steal my show."

" 's my job," Zayn tells him, squinting happily.

There's so much skin now, he notes suddenly, so much for him to touch. The way Liam's knees are bare where they're pressed into Zayn's ribs, how Liam straddling him somehow feels very different than before. It's curiosity at first that makes Zayn slide a hand up the inside of Liam's thigh, loving the way Liam shudders in response, the way his skin seems to react instantly under Zayn's fingers.

"You're cut," Liam says then, and his eyes are wide. Zayn would say the situation was comical if the both of them weren't hard.

"Tradition," he shrugs in reply.

Liam looks down at himself for a moment, "I'm not."

Zayn rolls his eyes, "Are you insecure about your dick?"

"Fuck off," Liam smacks his shoulder. He looks embarrassedly amused, cheeks pink, "That'd be very rude of you if I really was."

"You have a very nice dick," Zayn tells him in response. He bites down on the smile threatening to give him away. "Nicest one I've seen in person."

"You're a _virgin_ ," Liam accuses. Then he blinks like he's just come up for air while swimming, "Why are we talking about this? This isn't even relevant."

Zayn chokes back his own laughter. He's not sure what he was expecting to happen between them, but this is somehow ridiculously perfect. "Hush," he demands, " 'm gonna pull you off." He reaches forward, barely has his hand enclosed around Liam's cock when Liam jerks under his hands. Zayn sighs, "Is something the matter?"

"This is going to be over very fast," Liam admits, "You're very attractive."

Zayn grins, "Thanks." He pushes his hand up Liam's cock curiously, but there's too much friction. He makes a frustrated sound, but Liam shushes him, leaning over to the small side table to pull out -

"You're prepared as fuck," Zayn notes idly as Liam sputters.

"No," he insists, "It's just - you. I don't know. Last night you sort of tried to, right, so I asked Harry to - "

"You told _Harry?_ " Zayn groans. He's never going to hear the end of this one. "Liam, what the fuck." He takes the bottle of oils from him anyway though, unscrewing the cap and slicking up his fingers.

Liam seems extremely distracted by the way Zayn's hand returns to his dick. "Um," he looks at Zayn wide-eyed, and for half a second it seems as though he can't remember what he was talking about. "Well technically, everyone's gonna know anyway because when they come to clear the sheets tomorrow - "

"I hate this fucking tribe," Zayn mutters. He furrows his eyebrows, twisting his hand on the upstroke, satisfyingly watching as Liam gasped in surprise, "Except you of course," he presses a kiss to Liam's throat, "I quite like you. You're very attractive and you wanna be good for me."

Liam gives him a hard look, but it's not very effective when he looks so happy. "Glad to know I meet your approval, your highness." He shakes his head, "I've never had sex like this before."

Zayn sighs, leaning into Liam's shoulder. It makes pulling him off a little awkward, but being close to Liam's golden skin is always nice. "I don't really know what I'm doing," he admits, "So I'm trying to be ridiculous to cover up how inept I am."

"I know," Liam tells him. He sounds incredibly fond, "And I love you for it. 'sides you're not inept. Sex isn't like - it's not all that complicated, don't worry."

Zayn raises an eyebrow up at him and Liam leans down to kiss him again. He's smiling though, cheeks smushed up under Zayn's free hand, making it all the more difficult to bite into his mouth.

"What do you want?" Liam asks him, then quietly, "Please tell me. Do you want like, my mouth or - I don't know. Tell me, I want to do something for you too."

"I'm not too fussed honestly," Zayn admits.

"Okay," Liam gently reaches down to still Zayn's hand, threading their fingers together, unmindful of the mess, "I'm gonna suck you off, yeah. And then you can. You wanna open me up?"

Zayn stills and for a moment all he can think about is what Harry had told him. It seems distant now; he can't imagine a time when he was so frightened into making Liam happy. He frees his hand of Liam's grip, reaching up to tuck them around his neck, "Harry said you'd let me do that, though I was sure you wouldn't."

Liam furrows his brow. He genuinely looks confused, "What? Let you fuck me? Why wouldn't I? I'd really like that actually."

Zayn shakes his head, "Just something I assumed, like with power or pleasure - "

"That's ridiculous," Liam tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "stop assuming things."

"It was a long time ago," Zayn mutters in defense. He gets a smile in response and the change is so real, it takes his breath away for a moment. Things have fallen in place for Zayn in a way that they haven't for the last twenty years. His life had always been overshadowed with sorrow and loss, and it sort of feels like the sun is coming out in the form of a Khal who's both a pillar of strength and undeniable softness.

Liam ducks, sliding backwards as he presses a kiss to Zayn's solar plexus. He worries the skin softly, leaving a round little mark that Zayn thinks will hurt tomorrow if he presses down on it. "Shouldn't you do that where everyone can see or something?" He can't keep his mouth shut, because without the constant stream of chatter he doesn't know what to do with himself. Probably just lean back and let Liam do as he pleased, but the slight embarrassment is there, he's never exposed himself quite so vividly before.

Liam laughs against his skin, the vibrations making Zayn shiver, "If you want," his mouth brushes against Zayn's skin every time he speaks and it's incredibly difficult to actually focus on his words, "But I was just gonna put 'em here and," Liam trails his fingers on the insides of Zayn's thighs, "like here too. If that's good with you."

" 'Course," Zayn's voice is too high, almost squeaky, and he'd be scowling in any other situation. "That's totally fine with me. _Totally._ "

And Liam does just that, biting kisses down his sternum, his hipbones, and down to the sensitive skin between his thighs. Zayn watches on with an almost curious amazement because Liam's eyelashes, while nowhere near as long as his own, are delicate and light against his round cheekbones. He's reverent, careful in the way that he handles Zayn's body and it makes Zayn smile.

"Hey," he says quietly, huffing out a breath of laughter when Liam gets to a particularly ticklish spot. He runs a hand through Liam's damp hair, "Thanks for this, yeah."

Liam looks up at him curiously, reaches forward to encircle his cock with a warm palm, making Zayn jump at the contact, "What do you mean?"

Zayn shrugs, and fuck his eyes are getting misty, "Like making me comfortable and shit, you know. I hadn't like. Nobody excepts this, you're sort of ridiculously wonderful and I feel really lucky."

Liam laughs, raising his eyebrows, "Pull at my hair, yeah," he tells Zayn, the devil in his grin. And that's all the warning before his mouth wraps, soft and wet and sweet around Zayn's cock. He's eager, Zayn notes almost distantly, fingers tapping away at his hipbones until Zayn reaches down to thread them with those of his not already in Liam's hair. He tugs experimentally at the strands, delighted with the soft sound Liam makes in the back of his throat that seems to travel up through Zayn's body.

Nothing touches them for long moments, all there is in the tent is Zayn's harsh breathing and Liam's soft, wet noises. Thee sensation is so much _more_ than what Zayn had expected, intensely intimate, almost larger than life.

Liam pulls off him after a few minutes and his mouth makes an obscene sound, lips reddened in a way that makes Zayn shudder. "You're very quiet," Liam says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Zayn flushes, "Sorry. Do you want me to - like - not be?"

"No," Liam laughs, "Being quiet is perfectly fine."

Zayn has a strange feeling that whatever he did here would somehow be perfectly fine. He grins, pulling Liam up to kiss him, wrinkling his nose at the way he tastes. Liam huffs a breath of laughter into his mouth when he realizes Zayn's distaste, but he only kisses him harder and Zayn accepts gladly.

One of Liam's large hands cups his ribs when he pull back, body twisting as he searches for the bottle of oils that he'd dropped with his free hand, grinning like a child when he finds it. He presents it to Zayn with a grand gesture.

Zayn curls his fingers around it, gently freeing it from Liam's grasp, although his eyes don't stray from his face, "Do you want me to do it?"

"If you could," Liam sounds far too casual, far too excited, "Think it might be more fun that way."

" _Fun?"_

Liam scoffs, "What? You think we're doing something of great seriousness here?"

Zayn rolls his eyes, patting Liam's side until he slides off of him. He presses a hand against Liam's chest, pushing him back into the pillows. "I'm about to put these," Zayn wiggles his fingers in Liam's face, satisfyingly noting the mildly horrified look on Liam's face, "in your arse. Stop fucking around and tell me if I do something wrong."

Liam nods, still looking a little scandalized. Zayn bites down on his lip to smother a smile, though he doesn't think he's all that successful. He slicks up his fingers for the second time that night, pausing for a moment to gauge Liam's reaction. His gaze is steady though as it reaches out for Zayn, almost reassuring.

Zayn takes a deep breath, before he reaches to shift back one of Liam's legs, hooking it over his elbow. He pauses to kiss his kneecap, nosing at the skin as he reaches down with his fingers carefully.

"Are you afraid to look?" Liam teases quietly.

" _No_."

"You don't need to be," Liam tells him, "I've done this before."

"That just makes me feel incredibly jealous," Zayn grins. He lets Liam plant his foot flat on the bed, leaning against his knee as he watches the way his body swallows up the finger easily. Zayn blinks. He hadn't thought it'd be that easy.

Liam laughs softly at his bewilderment. "May have had to drain my own bath tonight to save face," he admits sheepishly.

Zayn's mouth opens in a laugh almost involuntarily, "That's cheating," he accuses, sliding another finger into Liam easily. He scissors them gently, the way he remembers Niall crudely miming one night as Zayn erupted into laughter.

Liam's hand comes to grip around his wrist and Zayn freezes immediately. Liam shakes his head, "Curl your fingers up just a little," he instructs, "like this." He hooks fingers of his other hand in-between them as a demonstration of sorts.

And Zayn knows what he's looking for, though sometimes he half suspects it doesn't actually exist. He mimics the action fingers brushing against a sensitive spot in Liam, watching with great pleasure as Liam shivers, mouth falling open. There's a silent sound building in his chest under Zayn's arm so Zayn repeats the motion, wants to hear the noise that he drew out of Liam.

"Another," Liam says urgently, and his eyes are blown wide as Zayn rubs over the strange bundle of nerves in his body, "Please, Zayn. I can take it."

Zayn pulls back, slicks his fingers again, before he pushes back in, with three fingers this time. Liam's head falls back into the divan, his body rocking back gently, an opposing motion to the way Zayn rocks his fingers into him.

Zayn thumbs over Liam's hipbone with his free hand gently. This is sort of incredible, he thinks wildly, because he's seen Liam everyday for the past eight months but this is _unbelievable._ Liam's eyes disappear with his smile and Zayn assumes it's probably for the dumbfounded look he's most likely sporting.

"What?" Liam asks. His breath is coming fast now, but he feels more and more relaxed around Zayn's fingers each time he works them back into him.

" 's cool, yeah," Zayn mumbles, "Like, this is brilliant."

Liam smiles at him again and this time, Zayn leans over him to kiss it off. He brings up his free hand to cup Liam's jaw, closing his eyes as he presses his nose into Liam's neck and breathes. They wait for a few minutes and all there is in Zayn's ear is the quiet rasp of Liam's breath.

"Zayn," Liam mutters, turning his head to kiss Zayn's head, "you can get in me now if you want."

"I want," Zayn assures him instantly, feels in a way that he has to. His skin feels too tight for his bones, heart too small for his body. He pulls away from Liam with a last bite at his collarbone. "How d'ya want to like - ?"

Liam thinks for not more than a split second, "Back," he nods, "You can see, then."

Zayn groans, "You're a fucking menace." His throat feels like sandpaper every time he swallows.

Liam smacks his side in retaliation, "Get on with it then, asshole."

Zayn swears under his breath when, for half a second, he actually thinks he's going to fall on his side. Liam doesn't do anything other than laugh under his breath, the little shit. Zayn scowls down at him, but can't seem to hold the faux expression for too long.

"C'mon," Liam interrupts his thoughts, reaching down to guide Zayn until he's pressed against him intimately, "C'mon then."

"That's my line," Zayn huffs at him, but he does as he's told, leaning down to bracket Liam's head with his forearm and he pushes in with a smooth thrust, watching as Liam's face changes rapidly. "Fuck, too soon?"

"Nah," Liam mutters. He kisses Zayn's cheek, " 'm good. Just give me a minute okay?"

"Sure," Zayn tells him casually, but the truth is that Liam feels incredible, all tight and warm around him, his body hard in all the right places, wide enough for Zayn to basically drape himself over him, tracing his fingers down his collarbones, " 'm gonna be done before you though, babe."

Liam laughs, hooking his ankles over Zayn's calves and pulling him in. Zayn takes that as his cue to rock up gently as Liam keeps laughing, "You fucking failure," Liam grins, "And after all I've done for you as well."

Zayn rolls his eyes, moves his hips harder just to shut Liam up, and gloriously it works. Liam clutches at him, squeezing his eyes shut; Zayn can feel the way Liam's blunt nails dig into the skin of his back. He hopes there will be marks.

For all their ridiculous banter before, there's very little of it now. Zayn takes both of Liam's hands in his own, pressing them down into the bed and he can't keep his eyes from straying downwards, watches the way Liam's body moves to accommodate him, listens to the soft noises that seem almost torn from Liam's body. And for the first time, when he wonders what it must feel like to be in Liam's position, there's no fear, just a tinge of nervousness and curiosity.

"You're getting off on watching us," Liam complains, breaks the trance Zayn's been in for the past long minutes.

It shocks a laugh out of him, makes him snap his gaze back up to Liam. Liam who's flushed down to his chest, lips red and raw, but eyes squinted into a smile. "No," Zayn sputters. He reaches down to wrap a palm around Liam's cock as a distraction and he's so wet, the sensation so much more fiery than before, "Just thinking, _fuck_."

Liam pushes back against him suddenly, breaking the rhythm, tightening until Zayn's gasping, "Then I'm clearly not doing a good enough job here. Your only thought should be my name."

Zayn reaches down to press a quick kiss to his mouth, pulling back almost instantly, because he's not coordinated enough to do everything at once. Not yet at least, "It is, don't worry," Zayn assures him, but it comes out softer than he'd anticipated. Makes him feel strangely vulnerable.

"Good," Liam mumbles back, back arching, " 'cause I'm not gonna last." He frowns and it's inappropriately adorable, "Thought I'd get you off first."

Zayn laughs, angling his hips up farther just to switch things up, pulling Liam off faster until Liam's trembling under him. "Feel good?" he asks just because he can.

Liam raises his eyebrows, "Fuck you - " And whatever he was going to say is irrelevant because Zayn swallows the words down, pushing himself as close to Liam as be possibly can, freezing, as Liam comes between their bodies, hot and wet over Zayn's fingers and stomach.

"No, no," Liam's telling him, breath uneven, "Keep fucking me don't stop, _like_ \- "

Zayn presses his forehead into Liam's throat, letting Liam's hands guide him however he wanted and it's only a few minutes later until Zayn's teetering right on the edge. But when he goes to scramble back, Liam holds him tightly, arms wrapped around his back and Zayn comes with a broken sob inside him.

He feels Liam turn his head to kiss his ear tenderly as Zayn comes down, heaving for breath. He doesn't pull out for long moments, choosing instead to hide himself in the crook of Liam's neck. Somehow what they'd done seems both monumental and familiar all at once. It's surreal though.

Liam pats his back after a while, "Zayn?"

"Yeah?" his voice is muffled by Liam's skin.

"We need to get cleaned up."

Zayn sighs unhappily, but he moves nonetheless. He panics a little when Liam hisses as he pulls out, wringing his hands as he sits on his haunches between Liam's legs.

" 's okay," Liam assures him, propping himself on his elbows, "You didn't hurt me."

But Zayn sort of has to know, has to know that this has been to Liam what this has been to him. He almost doesn't mean to, but he finds himself pressing his thumb gently to Liam's rim, watching as the flushed, damp skin spreads easily under his hands. He freezes when he feels Liam jerk.

"Sorry," he pulls back hastily, reaching for a discarded rag to clean his soiled hands.

"No," Liam huffs, " 'm just sensitive, nothing bad. And I don't think we're quite there yet."

Zayn lets the implication of those words wash over him; he feels hot all over. "You - you like that?" He can feel how wide his eyes are as he watches Liam shrug and sit up, taking the rag from Zayn's limp hands. "So," he's thinking aloud, tongue heavy and clumsy in his mouth, "you'd want me to fuck you more than once, in a row. And you'd like it."

Liam grins, clearly amused, "Sorry, love. Not tonight - big day tomorrow, remember?" He chucks the rug off the edge of the bed, reaching for Zayn.

Zayn lets himself be pulled into an embrace, mildly dumbfounded. "Big day," he echoes, crowding into Liam's side, accepting the fond kiss he gets.

"Yup," Liam says, cheery, "But some other night. After doing all that we just did," he waves his hand for emphasis, "you can, like, turn me over and - "

"Stop," Zayn groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He feels Liam shaking in silent laughter and looks to the heavens for patience, "You can't talk like that if you want to just sleep now."

"Sorry," Liam nuzzles him in a faux apology that Zayn can see through from a mile away, "At least that means you liked it, yeah?"

Zayn scoffs, " 'course I did."

Liam smiles against the skin of his forehead, "I'm glad," he mutters, a yawn pulling at the edge of his words.

"You make me very happy, Liam," Zayn tells him quietly. "You're enough, yeah."

Liam tightens his grip on Zayn's back, brings a hand up to thread through his hair, " 'm in love."

"Are you?" Zayn asks, "Lucky man he must be."

Liam huffs, "I was trying to be romantic and you're being ridiculous," Zayn snickers but Liam continues as if he hadn't heard, "Now go to sleep and stop bothering me."

______

This time when the evening comes around, Zayn does actually go to see Liam off, partly because he can't seem to stop following Liam around like a lost puppy all day and because the minute he's alone, Harry comes around to nudge him with this all-knowing smirk. He also can't shake the feeling that basically the whole tribe knows something's happened, and even though Liam assures him that it isn't true, it's nice to be out towards the outskirts of camp away from people's prying eyes.

Liam's men are gathering quickly, forming ranks. Zayn can see some of the new people of Jahakar added to the general circle, and not for the first time he's struck by the strangely welcome culture the tribe has towards newcomers.

"No bad news, right?" Liam's in full armor this time, sword strapped to his side, a spear in a sheath on his back. He'd assured Zayn that it was just in case though, he had no intention of drawing any of them. The mission was astoundingly simple - Liam and his men would ignite a coup for the slaves to overthrow the slave masters, while a small group of warriors from Jahakar and Karth worked together to dispose of the puppet king. City folk trust other city folk, Liam had told him pointedly.

And Zayn knows what that means - he'll be the one to take Karth's throne before they sailed for Bradfordshire. The Great Sea froze solid over the winter and no men ever dared cross the vast expanse of precariously thin ice, so the attack would have to wait until the seasons turned.

Zayn can't say that he's complaining; he's tired of the tension of war, thinks that a season's break where the tribe will spend months among Karth's luxuries will do everyone a world of good. It'll also give the people of Karth a chance to gauge Zayn - whether he's worth leaving their homes and fighting for. They must come of their own free will; Zayn understands this very well, because forced men are dead men.

Zayn shakes his head, smiling softly, "None that I can think of." He hooks a hand into Liam's sword belt, drawing him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Good." Liam lowers his voice. "I'm going to leave behind guards who'll come find me if something goes wrong. With Simon I mean - especially considering he couldn't have possibly gotten very far. If anything does happen, I'll be here in fifteen to twenty minutes tops - you won't be alone."

"It's my job to worry about you," Zayn tells him pointedly, "I don't need you distracted during something this important."

Liam gives him a look that clearly states he's going to be doing this whether or not Zayn agrees before he turns towards the assembled men behind him. "We ride in five minutes," he announces, reaching back to tangle his fingers with Zayn's. "Dismount your horses at the fifty foot perimeter we marked last time, the slave quarter doors are not wide enough for livestock. You may secure them if you wish, otherwise they will simply return to camp as they've been trained."

The men cheer him on, the determined set of their shoulders under the amour apparent even from where Zayn is standing. It's inspiring, the way these men are so loyal to Liam's command that they're willing to die for him. Zayn hopes for half that amount of dedication someday, but knows he'll have to earn it with every action and ever command the way Liam has.

He tightens his grip on Liam's fingers when he turns back to face him, face softening in an expression that Zayn knows is just for him. "Be safe," Liam whispers, drawing Zayn in with a hand on the back of his neck, "I'll be back by sunrise."

Zayn rests their foreheads together, breathing deeply to calm his heart for a moment, "Is this going to happen every time?"

"Honestly? Yes," Liam laughs. "Wait until I actually have to go into battle when we get to Bradfordshire. You'll probably throw a fit."

"I probably will," Zayn admits.

Liam laughs again, pulling back to mount his horse. He gives Zayn one last look before turning around and trotting over to his men, one last smile thrown back. Zayn watches as the whole group leaves, his hands crossed for warmth in the chilly air. The trees obscure them quickly and soon even the last sound of the hoofs against the earth is swallowed into the dark.

It's oddly lonely without Liam, he'll admit, because at least Liam doesn't make him feel like he's a complete outsider. Neither does Harry of course, but Liam is different in more ways than one. His warmth is unparalleled.

"Sire?" It's a young boy, hardly fifteen or sixteen years old. A little girl pokes her head from behind his legs.

"Yes?" Zayn sighs, rubs a hand over his face to curb the exhaustion. He'll be glad when they can wait the winter out in Karth.

"I asked your hand this, but he didn't know so he sent me to you," the boy's voice quivers, dark hair falling into his eyes as he lowers his head, "I don't mean to offend, hopefully Your Grace will forgive - "

Zayn laughs, and he reaches out to place hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy flinches immediately, so he softens his voice, "Do you need something?"

"Not just me," the boy insists immediately. He reaches behind himself to cup the back of the little girl's head; his sister, Zayn assumes, "A lot of other tribe members have been asking, but Li- Khal Liam as been exceedingly busy -"

Zayn shakes his head fondly, leading the boy back into camp while the little girl gripped onto her brother's hand, tripping along, "So the entire tribe sent you and little one to ensure I wouldn't say no. What is it then?"

The boy's face turns pink, but to Zayn's admiration, he doesn't back down, "Winter coats," he says quietly, "The weather's been getting cold and our furs aren't enough these days. I know Your Grace has been very busy lately, but we are wondering if you could make time to set it up for us before the first snow of the season?" He sounds nervous, terribly so, and Zayn instantly feels bad.

"Yes of course," he squeezes the boy's shoulder, ignoring the looks the three of them are getting as they reach the crowded main center of the camp, "I'll have it done before dark, I promise you. We picked up coats at the marketplace, just need to distribute them now from where they're packed away into those wagons."

The boy seems to delight in the attention of the tribe, pushing his shoulders back in pride as he reaches down to pick up his sister. For a moment, Zayn wishes he were like that, it'd certainly make his job a lot easier. "Thank you, sire," he nods, before turning to face Zayn. He cocks his head, voice curious, "You're kind."

Zayn raises his eyebrows in amusement, "Well thank you, sir, that warms my heart."

The boy flushes, ducking his head, almost the way Liam does. Maybe all the Dorthraki were inherently soft past the amour. "Most everyone here can see that," he says quickly. "And I know we are closed off but the Dorthraki follow strength and there is a sense that you haven't been worth all the effort the clan is putting in. My father says things will most certainly change once you sit on the Bradfordshire throne. Not that I agree with them or anything - because not at all, Khal."

Zayn shrugs, "I know this, Harry has told me. And I fully understand, who am I for you to die for?"

"It is said the people of Bradfordshire cry out for their true king, that the people pray for your return everyday." The boy is incessant. Zayn feels a rush of fondness for his childish optimism.

"Generous statement, but I thank you either way," he tips his head, clapping the boy on the shoulder before he turns to call for Harry, almost thankful for a task to set his mind upon, "I'll get the coats ready now."

The boy bows deeply as Zayn stalks away. His stride is confident in a way it hasn't been in a long time.

______

The distribution takes hours, so long in fact that at one point Zayn needs to duck away to calm his nerves. There's only so much he can hear about the type of fabric, sizes, and whether _I could have that one instead_ \- so Harry laughs at him, and sends him away to fetch water, winking at him to know that Zayn may take a little extra time for himself if he so wished.

Liam's not back yet, but it's barely dusk and he hadn't expected him back until dawn. From what he hears from the whispers, it seems to be going well, and Zayn clings to that - he's more than ready for this to be over so he can have a moment to himself. A moment where it's not a constant rush from city to city so he can sort himself out, to write to Maura, to maybe invite Niall to visit. To celebrate a religious holiday, to pray, or even plan the upcoming wedding anniversary he's going to share with Liam.

It's a little mad to think that it's been close to the year since Zayn has slept in a proper bed.

He sits on the divan after pulling the tent flaps closed to block out the chaos outside, curling his hands into the furs and wishes Liam was here, which inadvertently makes him frown because the codependency is not something he's proud of. While Liam is wonderful, Zayn wants _friends -_ regular ones that don't work for him. It's surprising how much he misses lighthearted, meaningless banter.

He sighs into the silence, bending down to retie his sandals, flexing his aching feet. The soreness never seems to leave, he's musing, when he feels it.

A cold, sharp strip of metal is pressed to the back of his neck and Zayn's not so foolish enough to not know what it is. He lets out a long rush of air, careful to stay exactly where he is, cursing himself lowly for not being more attentive.

"Don't shout," Cowell says gruffly. His voice is coming from behind Zayn, the tip of the knife pressing in a little harder, enough to sting this time. "If you do I'll cut your throat open."

Zayn clenches his fists on his knees, traces the flooring of the tent to calm his booming heart, "Hello Simon. What can I do for you this evening?"

And that definitely stings, Zayn wincing as a thin trail of blood slides around his neck and drips from his collarbone. He bites his lip to keep down a whimper.

"Don't be insufferable. Remember that you're nothing more than a horse lord slut," Simon's voice is vicious as he snarls the words, anger bleeding into every syllable. It makes Zayn panic for a moment, his hands tremble.

"Didn't mean to be," he says quietly, "I only asked what you wished from me."

Simon steps around the divan so that Zayn can see his dirt-ridden boots in his direct line of vision. It changes quickly, however, when Cowell fists a hand in his hair, yanking up hard enough that Zayn's scalp pricks with pain, neck snapping back loudly.

Cowell looks exhausted, he notes immediately, a surge of hope rushing through him at the sight. He has a cut under his right eye, one hand scraped deeply by what seems like branches. Simon's covered in dirt, looks as though he's barely slept these past few nights, but his grip on Zayn's hair is strong and unwavering.

"Your dragons," Simon spits, "The eggs, where are they?"

Zayn twists, tries to bring his knee up into Cowell's stomach, but he's far too slow, feels the knife sink into his upper arm as a warning. This time, he can't keep down the scream that builds in his throat, the pain knocking the air out of his lungs, blinding him for a split second. Cowell slaps him across the face for it, and Zayn's head cracks to the side as the knife is slid back out. His sleeve is already wet with blood.

"I don't have the patience for this," Cowell drawls, flicking the blade to splatter blood on the furs of the divan, "The quicker you tell me, the more merciful I will be in how I choose to kill you."

Zayn clenches his teeth. A quick thought occurs to him, adrenaline shocking through his bloodstream at the notion, but his voice remains steady. "You can't hatch them," he tries to reason, "Only I, last of the Maliks, can. Don't fool yourself."

Simon comes up short, and he looks from his knife back down to where Zayn is clutching his bloody arm. "Well then," he says softly, his eyes glitter cruelly, “I guess you may live a little longer, yet. But do tell me, where are the eggs?"

"Wagon," Zayn tells him, "They're in the wagon. Don't keep them in the tent anymore, not since you came in that night. I'm not that much of an idiot."

Simon hauls Zayn to his feet by his bad arm, shoving him in front to shield his body from the Dorthraki they'll face as they exit the tent, one arm looped around to keep the knife pressed to Zayn's throat. "You'll put up no fight," he threatens, "Or I'll kill you and as many people as I can get my hands on."

Zayn shrugs as Simon pulls back the flap of tent, "Think you might've overestimated my worth. They'll stab you through me."

He feels Simon laugh, loud and ugly in his left year, "Liam would fall on his own sword for you if I so demanded - and the Dorthraki will do anything for their beloved Khal."

The dying light feels too strong for Zayn's pupils, making him blink rapidly. He's woozy, the steady stream of blood sliding down his arm to splatter against the earth with every step does nothing to aid the situation. Neither do the gasps of shock from the tribe as Zayn is pushed forward, slicing himself again on Simon's sword, this time a gash on his collarbone.

He must look quite the sight, one side completely covered in blood to the point where the dirt is stained beneath his feet, a line of red around his neck, smeared over his collarbones, with Advisor Cowell standing behind him, knife pointed threateningly at his throat.

What's worse though, is the shame that he feels, crushing under the beat of his heart. This was a rather humiliating experience, but Zayn is determined to stand on his own two feet at least, no matter what happened.

He lifts his head, scanning the panic stricken women that pull their children behind themselves as they inch backwards. Zayn can't even blame them, he knows the ways of war - harm no one that does not stand in your way. If he were in their place, he'd probably do the same.

His eyes find one of the sparse perimeter guards, nodding at one slowly until a light of understanding passes over his face. He scurries back rapidly, falling into the trees and disappearing so quickly, Zayn's half convinced he was a hallucination.

 _Fifteen to twenty minutes_ , Liam had told him, if anything goes wrong, he'd be here in fifteen to twenty minutes. All Zayn had to do now was stall - and prevent as many deaths as he possibly could. Hopefully including his own.

"Cowell," It's Harry who steps forward, motioning for the remaining of Liam's men to be still. "I'd let him go if I were you."

"Don't worry," Cowell pushes Zayn forward towards the parked wagons, "I'll come back and kill you next."

"Sire," it's a soldier, voice rising above the rest, addressing Zayn directly, "What would you have us - "

"You do anything," Simon opens his palm to reveal the bloodied knife, continuing to push Zayn forward, "and he'll die immediately. I'm assuming Liam won't be too happy knowing that not even his army can protect this boy."

It's a low blow; Zayn can feel the frustration of the men from as far away as he is, wincing with every step. He throws Harry a reassuring look - there's no way Simon will manage to get Zayn to the wagon, get the eggs, kill Zayn, and manage to escape in as little time as he has. Though how much of this he may accomplish is still up in air.

Zayn watches as Harry swallows, a fur coat clenched tightly in one palm. His face is crumpled with worry, trembling - and it's the last he sees of him, Cowell pushing him behind the last of the tents to the west, towards the wagons. There are no men here, the Dorthraki do not believe in guarding possessions.

"Faster," Simon pushes him so hard with both hands that Zayn ends up on his knees, feeling them scrape at the impact on the hard dirt. " _Faster_ , boy."

He's hauled up again, Zayn gritting his teeth to keep the pain at bay. He pulls out of Simon's grasp ferociously, stumbling a little as he does so, "I'll take you," he spits, dragging his feet up and into the royal wagon.

"Careful with that tone," he hears Simon mutter over the rushing of blood in his ears. He feels like he's going to be sick, so he leans up against the weaponry chest for a minute, eyes taking in the spacious wagon with it's neatly packed belongings. There's a pang in a wound deep in the underside of his ribs at the sight of the wedding presents. His eyes stray to the china on which he'd left the burlap sack, Simon following his gaze and quickly scoops up the sack with a sound of triumph.

Zayn feels his stomach bottom out, the fight draining out of him as he gives in to the rhythmic throbbing in his arm, the sting on his neck and collarbones. He closes his eyes, willing strength, hoping against hope that Liam would find him within the next minute.

"Boy," Simon's voice is deathly low, threatening to the point that Zayn feels chills, "What did you do with them?"

Zayn raises his head tiredly, "What?"

Simon flings the bag to the floor, ignoring Zayn's terrified protests. They both look upon in a sort of fascinated horror as sack splits open, spilling shattered, colorful scales across the wagon floor. Zayn bends with the last of his strength, scooping up the shards and sifting through them with gentle fingers. He can't comprehend for a moment, doesn't _understand -_

And then there it is, the little squeak of a sound, the pattering of little feet that has both Simon and Zayn turning towards the mouth of the wagon. Simon actually drops his knife.

There are three of them, Zayn notes dazedly, one a deep sapphire, larger than the other two, another an emerald, and the smallest a deep scarlet. They look freshly hatched; he can see the mess of the egg still covering the little one.

An inhumane sound tears out from Zayn's throat as they gather towards his feet nipping playfully at his toes, leathery wings brushing against his arms.

"Incredible," Simon breathes, and he reaches for the sack with one hand, the other going towards the little red one.

And Zayn sees absolutely fucking red, brings his foot down on Simon's arm with a surge of strength he didn't think he possessed at the current moment. There's a sharp crack of bone, followed closely by the sound of Simon howling, clutching his injured arm. Zayn can see where the bone has moved, never even knew he could kick that hard.  

"Don't you dare get near them," Zayn hisses; he can scarcely recognize his own voice, "You'll have to kill me first." The little one flinches back, hopping up onto Zayn's shoulder, sharp, forked tongue licking at the cut on his neck with a sound of distress.

Simon lets out a shaky laugh, "Not a problem, boy."

The sapphire dragon steps forward, wings outstretched a few feet on either side. And Zayn's heard the stories; this one will grow large enough to rival the pictures in those old storybooks. It roars, high pitched and screeching, exposing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth.

Simon takes a step back, broken arm cradled to his chest. His eyes are wide, fearful, and Zayn feels a rush of satisfaction.

"Run," Zayn tells him fiercely, "Leave. And never come back. Or I'll have your head spiked as a warning."

But as it turns out, there's nowhere to go. The emerald green beast that had until this moment been resting calmly at Zayn's side, steps forward, a stream of wildfyre spraying at the floor of the wagon, the wood catching alight with supernatural quickness, black smoke suffocating.

Simon screams as his trousers catch alight and Zayn reaches for him, attempting to haul him out of the wagon, but he doesn't have the energy, can barely breathe in the thickness of the heat, much less get his limbs to move quickly. The red one on his shoulder springs forward, and another stream of fire.

Eventually, Zayn looses track, can only hold a bloody arm over his nose as he cowers in a far corner, behind the weaponry chest. Advisor Cowell's screams are vivid, earth shattering and Zayn knows his ears will ring with his haunted cries far into future - if he makes it out of course.

The whole wagon is blazing now, fire and smoke everywhere as far as he can see. Wood is falling around them as the thatch of the roof caved in above them. Zayn coughs, feels bile rise in his throat from the black smoke that he forces back, eyes stinging with a mixture of tears, fear, and an involuntary reaction to the harsh burn.

There's a soft sound then, a nose nudging against his elbow. When Zayn looks down, blinks through the haze and tears and blood, it's the sapphire one, fire reflecting in its large eyes as it blinks up at Zayn.

Zayn smiles weakly, "Hello," he whispers, letting it curl up bright and beautiful in his lap, huffing against his chest. "You're beautiful, aren't you?" He feels the others join, one at a time, the little red one resuming it's perch on his shoulder while the emerald green one rests pushed up under his bad arm. Zayn scratches behind its ears, the rubbery scales unreal beneath his fingertips as it makes a satisfied sound.

At last, the screams stop, and all there is around him is the crackling of the wood, the blaze of the flame. Zayn sucks in a breath, coughing as he looks at each of the three pieces of himself, the way that they blink at him with glassy eyes so large he can see his own broken reflection in them. The little one snorts into his neck, a rush of warmth against his skin. "Thank you," he whispers, at last.

Then Zayn tips his head back, closes his eyes, and waits for death.

______

They say Khal Liam Payne rushed to drag out Zayn's body from the burnt out remains of the wagon. But, by then, he could only watch in horror as everything had turned to ash, all the fine china, the thick steel armor, the chests of expensive furs. Stories say the tribe had shouted, had noticed immediately that this was no ordinary fire, that it was far wilder. A force of destruction and creation comparable to the Gods.

Then the smoke had cleared, and they could see clearly - the sight before them magnificent.

Among the gray ashes, the only one thing that had remained untouched was Zayn, last of the House Malik, who was found curled bare around three dangerous beasts that hissed at any approaching figure. His body shuddered a great deal, dried blood crested on his neck and arm along his half-healed injuries. The delicate rise of his spine a resting place for a sapphire beast with fire in its eyes, wings outstretched over Zayn's body as a clear marker of protection.

Liam Payne had stepped forward, whispered pleas to touch his husband, to take him inside, bathe him, heal him, clothe him.

He had been denied.

They say Zayn Malik's body lay under their protection for two nights and three days, warmed by their wildfyre and healed by their magic.

______

When Zayn awakes it's dark, the moon hanging large and round in the sky. He has to blink, rub at his eyes to wipe away the crust of his tried tears. He's shivering, cold and naked at the edge of the Dorthraki encampment.

The first thing he sees is the line of soldiers, a tight ring around him, leaving him a hundred feet wide clearing to lay in. He's confused for a moment, lost as to why he's waking up outside, cold, hungry, alone. And naked. He doesn't remember being any of those things

One of the soldiers blows a loud conch when they spot him sit up. Zayn flinches at the shrieking sound, his sensitive ears ringing as his vision swims. He clenches his eyes shut, sits up and curls his arms around his folded knees to keep his modesty, to catch his breath.

The next thing he sees are his dragons, circled around the body of a sheep, ripping into it with fervor. It's a gruesome sight, but it makes Zayn smile nonetheless. They're a part of him, he knows, something about them woven into his flesh and blood. They will always be his responsibility; they will forever be each other's protection.

"Zayn?"

Zayn shakes out the dirt and ash in his hair before he looks up, Liam approaching him gently. He's unarmed, clad in simple trousers and a tunic that Zayn has only seen him in when he sleeps. He's also holding a blanket of soft furs, clenched tightly in one hand. 

Zayn clears his throat, " _Liam_." His voice is hoarse, shaky, just like his knees when he goes to stand and collapses back into the earth.

Liam runs to him when he falls, scooping his body into his larger one. His breath is shaky with relief, chest rising and falling reassuringly at Zayn's side.  
"Are you alright?" Liam asks fiercely. Zayn can hear the break in his voice, the build up of a sob in his throat, "My _love."_

Zayn fists a hand in his tunic as Liam stands, his legs thrown over the curve of Liam's elbow. He tucks his head into Liam's neck. "I'm alright," he whispers, "I'm _alright_ , I promise, Li."

Liam tucks the furs around his body, lets Zayn pull it up and adjust it as he liked. "Are you hurt?"

Zayn shakes his head, getting dirt on the collar of Liam's tunic. "I'm okay, babe."

"You were _burning_ ," Liam tells him, wetly, "There was so much smoke, the smell of burning flesh. Thought you'd died - and then. Then that lot wouldn't let me get near you, yeah."

Zayn smiles softly, turns his tired body to look at his little beasts, all of which are now watching them curiously. The largest one meets his eyes, lowers his head in a growl as the three begin their approach to the pair of them.

" _No_ ," Zayn tells them firmly as they reach him and Liam, eyes glittering in the dark. "This is Liam, he means me no harm." But regardless of what he says, the little red one jumps at them, scaring Liam half to death as the two of them topple back into the dirt. Liam makes sure to take most of the impact and Zayn loves him loves him _loves him_ -

But clearly the little one means no harm either as he crawls up Liam's shoulder, nudging under his jaw until Liam shifts enough for it to curl up, warm and happy under his chin. Liam gives him a wide-eyed look that makes Zayn laugh despite everything.

The larger ones are more cautious however, sniffing at Liam's palms and chest until Liam's squirming, uncomfortable. Zayn smiles, calls them over. The emerald one comes without a fight, but the blue one gives Liam a haughty snarl before it curls up against Zayn's side, licking at his hand.

"Dragons," Liam whispers. He reaches up to thumb at Zayn's eyebrow, ignoring the largest one's growl, "The legends are true then."

"Apparently," Zayn shrugs, but his heart is beating quick in his chest. He's half surprised that Liam can't hear it. "Now I've got to name them."

"You're going to name them?"

"Of course," Zayn tucks his head back into Liam's neck, "They're like my children, yeah." He laughs at the way the sapphire one tracks his every movement with Liam with cautious eyes, "This large one here is Jaiman."

"What's that mean?" Liam asks softly, reaching down to kiss his forehead.

"Victory," Zayn murmurs as Jaiman makes a satisfied sound against Zayn's side, clearly happy. Dragons or cats, Zayn will never know.

"The little one here," Zayn reaches for the red one, pulling it down and cradling it like an infant. It blinks up at him, a touch of innocence in his eyes that reminds him strangely of Liam, "Aziz - darling." He nudges Liam and hands the little thing back gently. Liam's reverent, like Zayn's just balled up every previous stone in the universe and handed it to him on a gold platter.

The emerald one huffs impatiently and Zayn grins widely, pressing a kiss to it's head. "Haven't forgotten you, lovely, don't worry." It cocks his head at him, graceful in a way that takes Zayn's breath away, dark scales so beautiful they seemed to reflect every piece of light that hit them. "You're a girl, aren't you, pretty?"

The emerald dragon tucks it's head bashfully and Zayn brings it near, holding her gently to his chest, hiding his face from the stinging he feels building in his eyes, "Do you want to be Tricia? It was my mother's name."

He feels Liam still at his side, because although they've been married nearly a year, the topic of Zayn's parents is clearly taboo. He leans over, nipping at Liam's jaw before he stands, stumbling a little from the weakness, Tricia still cradled in his arms.

"We have to clothe you," Liam tells him as he stands, brushing the dirt off his trousers. Aziz refuses Zayn's call to him, stays curled up on Liam's broad shoulder, and Zayn can understand that - Liam's shoulder is very comfortable. "Everybody's looking at you, no one can tear their eyes away. This is terrible."

Zayn feels the tips of his ears turn hot as he meets the gaze of a few curious tribes folk outside the ring of soldiers. He reaches for the blanket, tucks it around his waist a few times before knotting the end. Liam watches him the entire time, one hand absent-mindedly petting Aziz until he's nearly purring. He gives Liam a pointed look as they begin trekking back towards the main camp, "There, I'm covered."

Liam laughs, shakes his head, and goes to say something when he trails off, the two of them standing stunned at the west edge of the camp. Everybody's outdoors, or at least most of them - it takes Zayn's breath away sometimes, the sheer number of people that claim the Dorthraki name and its protection.

Zayn spies Harry at towards the front, shooting him a questioning look. But, all he gets in return is a bright smile. He looks so pleased, so proud, that it's enough to warm Zayn's chilled flesh. He doesn't know how he did it - he'd nearly died, but instead, he's come out more alive than ever before. There's self-pride in that, he's realizing, validates the whispers about why he's special that he's been hearing for so long now.

And then the Dorthraki begin to kneel, one by one dropping to their knees. Harry does too, but of course not without a conspiring grin thrown at Zayn. His palms are sweaty now, Tricia shifting uncomfortably in them until she hops down with a huff, throwing him a look of disgust. Zayn swallows, the absurdity of his experiences never ceases to shock him.

"It's for you," Liam whispers to him as he steps forward before turning to face Zayn. He smiles, pride in the crinkles of his eyes.

" _No_ ," Zayn points at him threateningly, "Don't do it."

But Liam only grins harder, the apples of his cheeks rising in a way that makes Zayn want to kiss them before he too, kneels.

" _Fuck_ ," Zayn swears, but he's sure everyone can hear the pleased note in his voice.

______

The next day, all fifty thousand of the Dorthraki march onto a celebrating Karth. His dragons, Tricia and Jaiman, perch on Zayn's horse in front of him, irritating his mare, a creature of great patience. He soothes her gently, mutters promises of extra sugar cubes until she calms. Aziz rides with Liam of course, and Liam's probably as fascinated with him as he is with Liam. It's ridiculously adorable, though Liam would probably scowl at him if Zayn ever told him so.

A week later Zayn is crowned in the main throne room - it's sort of a rushed ceremony and he can hardly remember any of it. All he knows is that he absolutely despises the circle of weight the crown leaves on his head and is sort of irritated by the cumbersome nature of the royal robes. He never thought he'd see the day when he preferred the riding gear of the Dorthraki.

Zayn's put his dragons away in the gated yard with roasted meat, let them enjoy the last of the sunshine before the snow fell in and the world darkened for winter. The Dorthraki have settled well into Karth, most of them living in newly constructed shared housing - Liam had insisted, told Zayn that communal living was their way of life. There's respect there now for Zayn and his title, from the people of Jahakar, the Dorthraki, and the people of Karth. To be completely honest, all Zayn really cares about is how welcome he feels now, how his mismatched tribe and Liam feel more like home than even the Horan Kingdom had.

Liam pulls him aside during the royal feast, excusing himself much to the amusement of the other, very important men seated around the table.

"What are we doing?" Zayn asks, amused as Liam leads him through passage after passage. He's not keeping track of where they're going, hopes Liam is doing that at least.

"You have royal chambers now - it's one of the first things they set up when a new King gets crowned," Liam grins at him over his shoulder, "They say that the beds are really big."

Zayn chokes, digging his heels into the stone ground to stop, "You're making me walk this far for a bed? We must've passed twenty of them."

"Yeah," Liam's speaking slowly, as if he's trying to make Zayn understand, "But none of them were yours. I didn't see the King's crest on any of the doorways."

Zayn rolls his eyes, "Why do we need to find mine? I'm pretty sure half of these are guest bedrooms anyway."

"You're supposed to be a King," Liam admonishes him, tapping at the crown on Zayn's head, "If you don't even spoil your husband, are you really even a King?"

Zayn sighs, tipping his head back on the walls. He peers at Liam in barely restrained pleasure, "You're very entertaining. I'm glad you're my husband."

Liam scowls, "So you don't want to bed me?"

"Who said that," Zayn pulls at him, brining him closer so he can kiss the shocked look off of Liam's face.

"We're not doing this in the passageway," Liam protests, "We just got here. It's not polite."

Zayn raises a smooth eyebrow, "I didn't say that either, Liam. Honestly, you need to listen more."

"Hush," Liam tells him, cupping Zayn's waist, "I've gotten plenty good at it, you prick. Appreciate me for my strengths."

Zayn nods, squeezing at his bicep. "I am," he leers.

Liam pulls back, laughing, "Fuck you. I meant the strengths of my personality. After all it's what's on the inside that counts."

Zayn hums non-committedly, rakes his eyes up and down Liam's body purposefully. He bites his lower lip to contain his laughter.

Liam feigns outrage, "For my body," he shakes his head, "I should've known."

Zayn bursts into laughter, but smothers it quickly lest someone hears. He draws Liam in, bringing his arms up and around his shoulders, "You're ridiculous. Let's go find my chambers then."

Liam's shoulders fall as he looks around, "We only have this winter - "

"No," Zayn interrupts him, smiling. He presses a kiss to Liam's cheek, "Jaiman's getting big, and if the stories have any truth to them, which they actually might because he, you know, _exists_ , he's going to be big enough to ride. There's no faster transport. I would be across the sea in a few minutes. I could leave Harry in charge for a few hours, I'm sure the throne wouldn't crumble to the ground in the meanwhile. And it'd do him good I think, let him turn over a new start. And we'd have Karth's navy - the tribe can spend upcoming winters in Bradfordshire."

Liam beams at him in happiness and Zayn feels a sense of contentment at being able to put that look on Liam's face. "This winter it is then," Liam concludes, smiling, "Because you're going to have to learn to ride a dragon and _God knows_ -"

"I hate you so much," Zayn says, indignant, "Don't be jealous, _Leeyum_ , I won't leave you in the dust."

"God," Liam shakes his head. He presses a long kiss to Zayn's mouth, biting down on his lower lip teasingly before he pulls back, "I really hate it when you say my name like that, you know."

Zayn raises his eyebrows, "Really? Because it _feels_ like-"

"Bed," Liam's dragging him now, cheeks flushed. Zayn points to an open doorway where he can see a full sized bed, but he hasn't even gotten the words out before Liam cuts him off again, "And I mean _yours._ "

"Never realized marrying you was such a chore."

"Never realized marrying you was so eventful," Liam shoots back, "And now we have _children._ You hatched _children_ without even _asking_ me."

"You love them," Zayn insists, and Liam only smiles, doesn't say anything to contradict, even as a jest.

"I love you," Liam confesses suddenly, turning to face him, "I didn't think I would at first, but. I really, really do. Not even sure when it happened."

"It was easy," Zayn tells him quietly, tightening his grip on Liam's fingers, "I mean, obviously not all of it, and it probably won't get easy anytime soon, but like that's always felt like circumstance you know. We," Zayn gestures between the two of them, "were always good."

Liam smiles at him, close-mouthed and endearing, "Us against the world."

"Well," Zayn reminds him, "Hopefully not the world."

It's Liam's turn now to roll his eyes, a bad habit that he's probably picked up from Zayn, "I was trying to be _romantic_ , Zayn."

"I'm sorry, love," Zayn smiles, tugging him close, "Do continue."

______


End file.
